


The Dark Queen's Favour

by Turandokht



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Oath of Empire (Thomas Harlan)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, Constantinople, Crossover, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen-centric, Dubious Morality, Emperor Maxian is terrifying, Eventual Sex, Exile, F/F, F/M, Island of the Amazons, Magic, Multi, Not all characters show up at first, Oath of Empire canon has a Mysterious Cities of Gold homage in it, POV Daenerys Targaryen, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Thaumaturgy, Valach, Vampires, War, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turandokht/pseuds/Turandokht
Summary: As Daenerys' ships sail to Astapor, they are driven in sight of the abandoned island of Monkeys, called the Isle of Cedars or  Velos, once the home of prosperous Valyrian colonies. There, they shall find a group of exiles driven away from their own home by a war of an evil as terrible as that bearing down on Westeros, and led by a Queenly figure, who wishes to help Daenerys for only a favour.She is the Bidalaksha'Virazhoi, fleeing the overwhelming Apotheosis of Prince Maxian as the Emperor of Rome, the Emperor who controls the Oath.The Night's King is only the outer symbol, the bondservant of the Enemy she has fought before. Daenerys will find herself challenged like never before in her morality and her objectives by the Dark Sisters, the Order of the Queen of the Valach.
Relationships: Arianne Martell/Daenerys Targaryen, Daario Naharis/Daenerys Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen/Other(s), Yara Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, Yara Greyjoy/Other(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a blended Game of Thrones/ASOIAF canon setting there; Thomas Harlan's Oath of Empire is used without modification, the point of divergence being after the end of the series.

**Introduction**

As they had come to approach Astapor, Daenerys' little flotilla of three ships had encountered a very great and terrible storm. The storm, coming with westerly winds out of old Valyria itself, drove hard onto them. Daenerys sheltered, her seasickness gone, belowdecks and wondered at these malicious winds which impacted her from the shores of her distant ancestors.

Battered and swept by the sea, with the sky above darkened and coarsened with lashing waves of rains, the course of the fleet was driving faster to the north than expected. On the fourth day, they found themselves caught by a contrary wind which now drove them up to the north from the south, like the storm was gyrating around. On the sixth day, they sighted the Isle of Cedars to the north. It seemed as if they would be lost, with the waves hammering them closer to the distant visage of the Cedars, and the giant tubs of the ships close-hauled in a frantic, failing attempt to stay off the lee shore. 

The Dothraki hated every second of it. Daenerys comforted her handmaids, and wondered if all would be undone in a wreck of a ship. 

It was not to be. On the morning of the second day when the storm finally broke, they found themselves discomfitingly in the middle of the ruins of Velos. The dragging anchors had caught on the ruins which thus had uncomfortably saved their lives from being dashed ashore. _To be saved by a graveyard..._

The crews hastened about, looking at the ruins poking out of the water, and feeling very uncomfortable, and very eager to leave, as soon as they very possibly could make repairs and get underway again in their three merchant ships... it was a place of ill omens. It was like a foretaste of Valyria, and Valyria was not a place men wish to remain any longer than they must, and better if they not travel there at all.

The repairs, the Captains estimated, would take until the next day, but then they could depart. The damage was mercifully not great. The haunted ruins of piles of stone of the higher buildings on hills still poked out of the water, the great, rotting watch-tower on the hill which withstood the water hard-by just ashore. The city's bones were all around them, breaking the waves and letting the ships ride comfortably at anchor as they make repairs as quickly as possible.

The men were very ill at ease as they worked, but Daenerys was fascinated enough to spend a great deal of time on deck viewing it, with her three little dragons circling around her; she was possibly the one least concerned about anything at all around them. At about the beginning of evening, while Daenerys was on deck, a flickering light was seen on shore near the ruins of the old tower. It seemed to burn like oil, unsteadily. After a while it was seen again from time-to-time ascending the ruins of the tower, until it flickered at the top of the tower. Nothing untoward is happening to the ships, or in the ruins. 

The men around Daenerys were quite uneasy... the watch can see it, and murmurs of ghosts and demons swept through the ranks of the sailors, trimming their lamps brighter and making them jumpy enough to not sleep well... at all. Ill omens indeed in this accursed place, passed between the crew and the passengers, but it was too dangerous to try leaving at night with the ruins all about.

The morning was not kind to them. At dawn, one of the crewman cried out desperately: "Sail ho!" and indeed white sails over black hulls, three in number, were coming in hard on a final port tack toward the ruins of the city. No demons visible on that immensely high tower, though, or ghosts. If only they had been, perhaps, a bit less superstitious and a bit more wary. Surely there could not be a coincidence: It had been a signal light and now there were three galleys on the port tack, oars coming out as they struck sail entering the dangerous shoals about Velos, blocking the exit through the treacherous debris. 

There were shouts of panic, as men got on armour, preparing themselves to fight, Dothraki drawing their own odd weapons, the crews taking everything to hand - Daenerys was hurried below deck by her protectors--with her dragons--the crews searched desperately for banners, since if they were of Qarth, of the Warlocks... then the loyalty of those ships' crews might well waver, and it might well be cause for some new plans to be brought to bear... much the same if they were of the Royal Fleet of the Iron Throne. The merchant ships' sweeps were brought to the ready, just in case. Indeed, even despite that, they would start to move towards the shore - cautiously, cutting their cables, though buoying them first, and moving... close enough to where swimming would be an option if it came to it.

The ships approaching them did not host standards, but instead came on very delicately through the shallows. On shore, the hoots and cries of monkeys resounded endlessly. The ships anchored about where the merchants had been before, their oars banking water gently. Up fluttered an ensign. It was swallow-tailed and red, and inset in it was a Cat's Eye gem. One of the men on deck, in unfamiliar armour, brought a long trumpet to his lips and blew a clarion peal across the water. 

There was a silence between the two groups of ships. Daenerys waited in discomfort belowdecks, wondering would happen as the crews of her ships waited tensely above her. At length, on the shore there was an echoing trumpet blast, and a party of infantry with heavy spears worthy of boar-hunting, numbering about sixty, appeared, escorting a group of men in good leather clothes, who are carrying cages and cages of captured monkeys. They had apparently stumbled upon a party capturing Monkeys ashore on the Isle of that same name, and the almost banal encounter meant that the three merchant ships prepared to work their way back out to sea. 

Then, the situation again changed. A woman came up on deck of the nearer vessel with a speaking trumpet. She spoke Low Valyrian with a passable enough accent. "Wayfarers, BACK YOUR OARS. The Bidalaksha would treat with you before your depart!"

The Captains of the ships backed their oars rather obediently, and sat there bobbing on the light waves, once again deeply confused. Now the goal of Ser Jorah was to get Daenerys out of this situation, given the price on her head and the unknown nature of all this. He descended to cabin. 

"I have heard they wished to treat with us," Daenerys said, looking up from the rude desk in her cabin to Ser Jorah. 

"They have claimed that. But better for us to break loose and find a favourable wind. Their oarsmen will tire if they pursue, soon enough. But it will set us back from Astapor."

"I am not afraid of treating with a small squadron of galleys," Daenerys answered. "Best to let them show what they aim for, rather than to assume their hostility, when they might be fitted for war."

"Khaleesi..." Ser Jorah paused, and sighed. "Of course, Khaleesi." 

The merchants backed their sweeps obediently, Jorah's preferences or not. On shore another party came up along the beach behind the others and at the rear was a woman in tightly done up robes who was likely taller than even Ser Jorah from her prominent silhouette. She was veiled and draped in a heardscarf and looped in robes, and had a couple of swarthy men well-armed close by in guard. They slipped a boat out from the ruins and held it ready. She paused for a moment, raising a parasol and setting it on the launch to cover herself, and then a group of the leather-clad men who'd carried the cages went forward to take the oars, and she started out very deliberately toward the three merchants, just as Daenerys came up-deck with Ser Jorah to see the affair. 

Irri dared to follow, and hissed from behind her: "I think her a witch, Khaleesi."

Daenerys shot her handmaid a look. Her bloodriders looked uncomfortably at the woman and the sea again, then they insistently pressed their Khaleesi back down below-decks.

Soon, the launch came alongside, and the figure, after a moment's observing from the back of the boat, directed to her crew a shifted heading and made for alongside of Daenerys' ship. "A ladder for the Bidalaksha!?" One of the swarthy guards called out from the launch. 

A thing of planks and rope was unrolled, and the bulwark undone for her, of course--the ship's captain and Ser Jorah waiting on deck for her--there was not much formality on a merchant ship, especially not one which had somewhat hijacked for this journey.

She arrived with four men only at her back. When she pulled back her veil it revealed an incredibly pallid face with eyes sharply swept back and slanted like those of the far East, though her skin was completely bone-white to alabaster, her hair barely red onto black, rubies set into her ears as earrings. "Captain, forgive me for my preemptory action, but my people find water displeasing and are not familiar with its ways, so they did not seek your permission to board. I am more the sailor, and know well enough to apologise."

"Your Ladyship." The Captain gave a small bow. "Welcome aboard Balerion." The Valyrian name of Aegon the Conqueror's dragon was a bit odd for the name of a ship. 

"Ah, so this ship is named for the dragon Valerion." She slurred the B and V sounds in the faintest hint of an accent that was otherwise impeccable. "I have heard some of the strange history of the survivors of Valyria from the men of Ghis whose port we sheltered in lately." She then looked, slowly and deliberately, toward Ser Jorah. "You are the commander of this squadron or else he who hired it?"

He indicated; "Captain Groleo here is the agent of the owner of the squadron, m'lady. I am merely represent the passengers aboard." And my _Queen._

The woman's lips twisted into a faint hint of a smile. "I imagine so. But I am interested in information. Who should I deal with for it? I am an exile, but not one lacking in means. You will find me not inclined to force you to remain on the shores of Fair Velos if you do not wish, but I should much prefer to know the lay of these parts. We have embarked on a voyage of considerable leagues upon the seas of all sorts, and this has been a miserable time for my Valach."

"We cannot tell you a great deal, m'lady, I fear, being exiles ourselves, and the ships are a... kindness to us." Jorah offered in turn. "I am Ser Jorah Mormont, late of Westeros."

"A pleasure, Ser Jorah. We find ourselves in shared exile, then. I am The Bidalaksha'verazhoi, and that is the standard of my people the Valach," she gestured to the flag. "I am their Lady, and we have come here by choice, as I will not be a slave to a mad far-off sovereign who thinks himself a God. That is what you need to know about me. In exchange I am interested simply in knowing -- my people have been residing on this island now for a-while, and I am quite sure it was destroyed incidentally to the fall of Valyria, and not caught up in the magic of it. I wish to encourage people to return to it, to live under the safe promise of the Valach and my good word. The people of Ghis told me that in these lands the only spare people are those for sale, alas. Perhaps you can be of more help? I rather think they only wished to be rid of me."

"Those of New Ghis are correct, m'lady," Jorah answered. "This is Slaver's Bay, where men are bought and sold in a market. Velos was a city of Valyria - Ghozai on the north coast was, the legends say, a great slave market when the Doom came, but I fear that the King of New Ghis is right. There are no free men to settle a land in this place, no smallfolk seeking peace." As he finished there was an odd and animalistic whine from below deck.

"It is a shame. I do not know what strange superstitions keep men away from these islands. To set down roots and live again -- that is what makes old ghosts happy. After all, look at them now. There is no-one to honour their graves." The Bidalaksha glanced down below the deck, and back up to Ser Jorah. "I sense concern from you, Ser Jorah. Tell me, do you think you are free to go?"

It was an ominous question, and Jorah stiffened. "Such had been the hope, m'lady. We do have some horses aboard for the Dothraki--and we make for Astapor."

"I will let you go," the woman said after a moment, her eyes downcast from the sun, for one of royalty, "but I will need to signal the other part of my squadron laying 'round the cape first to let them know. I trust you understand that I'll have to send runners to do so and if I don't their orders would be to attack... So it will be a few hours." There was almost a smile on her lips.

"Of course, m'lady." Jorah grasped for words to deal with the strange encounter. "It is only a colony--a city to establish, that brings you here?" He asked... in a quietly probing sort of way.

"That is just the method, Ser Jorah. I am brought here because I swore an oath a long time ago to never be a slave, and as I said, that was no longer an option at home. I'm open to other considerations that favour the same goal, within the dignity of my position."

"... I see. What do you know of Westeros, m'lady?" This was very cautious probing, very cautious indeed.

"It is the land the House of Valyria fled to when the sky opened and the earth thundered thence to the west," she answered neutrally.

"And do you know of their overthrow these years past, by base usurpers?"

"Nothing of such a tale, alas," the woman answered. "Though I imagine this has something to do with your claim of exile, Ser Jorah."

Jorah gave a small tilt of his head, relieved, if anything, at this strange woman's assumption. "If you wish... I can introduce you to the rightful Queen of Westeros. She has some who remember loyalty still."

The woman turned her pallid eyes toward Jorah with a look that was unnerving from top to bottom. "Tell the Queen of Westeros that the Queen of the Valach is glad to treat with Her Sister," the woman answered, very laconically. 


	2. Women of Bronze

It had to be said that the sight of a silver haired girl, no older than fifteen, in loose travelling clothes was not expected. But most assuredly not expected were the three small dragons with her. 

Daenerys approached with her children nestled around her, looking with eyes of thoughtful intelligence at the woman before her. She could see the eyes, so faintly blue, so light, as to almost be white throughout, which seemed to have an unnatural sharp sweep to them. The utterly pallid skin, with lips almost as white as her body. The hair, red as dried blood, and the cool composure of her. 

The dragons hissed and snarled at the Queen of the Valach, until she took a step back, and relaxed before Daenerys. Then the dragons too seemed to calm, and Daenerys let herself slowly down from the edge she had been on, remembering what her handmaids had nervously said. The Queen of the Valach _did_ have the look of a sorceress. 

"The Queen of Cats meets the Queen of Dragons," the woman remarked calmly. "I will be level with you, then. My Eastern Wing has three more galleys and my northern wing, likewise three more. We have six merchants drawn up on the northern beaches. And you have one cavalry transport and two galleys loaded with armsmen--and three dragons. I rather know which is more valuable--dragons over dromon," she said, dryly, though she admitted no fear or wonder at their presence. "Where shall we talk, Royal Sister?"

Daenerys refused to be intimidated by the composure of the woman before her. She had a look in her eyes that somewhat belied her years as she indicated the shore. "My khal will enjoy the time ashore, Royal Sister, and your own people are discomfited by the sea, you say. If I have your hospitality, I have no fear of traveling ashore with you." The three dragons launched themselves into the air with cries of what sounded a great deal like joy, as if they were well in tune with their mother's spirit. "We can speak of plans then." _Perhaps you will hear me out before rejecting them, unlike Ser Jorah,_ Daenerys couldn't help but think with a trace of frustration.

"I will set a fire in the old Pharos," she gestured to the tower, "and recall my ships. You will find only tents set up with ruins to secure them and the most primitive of steam baths in our shore-camp. I was preparing to cross the bay, so we were collecting the monkeys. They infest the island, but there is plenty of boar for men to hunt as well." She re-focused from her distraction. "Yes. Let us go ashore. The beach here is a gentle slope, the old ruins keep it from being eroded. The men may bring in the ships. They will be secure."

Daenerys would speak softly to the captain, Groleo, before stepping up to the Valach Queen, her curiosity overcoming the intimidation it seemed all of the crew felt near her. "They will do so, but I wish to speak with you, Royal Sister... I perhaps hope that you, even if an exile are at least, fortunate enough to not be the last of your line?"

"Royal Sister, we will speak at great length, I assure you." A shake of her head. "I am the Bidalaksha'virazhoi, and I have my children--after a fashion. Here there are only a few things I need to be concerned of. It is.... Regrettable to be the last of your line, but it is more regrettable, to me, to be driven out by your own line and then see them make all the errors and mistakes that you warned them about and which were the cause of your exile."

"I am glad you have children of your own," Daenerys frowned, wondering at the odd phrasing. _But perhaps she just doesn't speak the tongue right,_ she thought. 

The Bidalaksha'Virazhoi folded her hands on the railing of the ship and looked out onto the land. "I like this island, actually. It reminds me of home. Is it anything like your's?"

It was almost banal, but for the first time, Daenerys had a true social equal to speak to. "Assuredly not... Though I have no real memories of it, before I was cast into exile, as a small child. I've traded pride for life." 

"Ahhh, but that's the tale of more women than merely exiled Queens. One might call it the tale of every woman. Trading pride for life. Does it make you angry sometimes?" The Valach Queen's voice had a whisper of steel under it as the last sentence left her lips. 

"Dragons are hot-blooded creatures." It was... an answer, in a way. "I am the rightful Queen only because I am the very last."

"A very long time ago it also made me angry," the woman answered shortly. "Let us go ashore, Dragon-Queen. How you got to be the rightful Queen does not matter to me. You are, so I advise you to make the most of it--and refuse no chance to improve yourself. Skill will salvage something from the worst throws of the dice."

"I know how to ride and how to endure a great deal." Daenerys would follow, leaving unspoken that she knew very little else. She brought Jorah, her bloodriders, handmaids, and Strong Belwas and his squire with them. "I know how to love and to mourn, how to harden my heart and how to show mercy. I have buried a husband and a son, been betrayed, and left nearly alone."

The Valach Queen murmured something in a foreign tongue, and a gentle smile came to her lips as they worked their way ashore. "Your honesty with me is a kindness, Royal Sister." 

"And your own?" Daenerys looked back to Jorah, seeing the tension still wrought in his eyes, and then back to the woman whose almost unpronounceable name, or perhaps title, was ominous merely to speak. "Will I have honesty from you?" 

"I will never lie," the Valach Queen answered. "I have no need of lies." 

"That's not the same thing." Daenerys glinted, the launch rocking below them. "You don't have a husband, do you?"

"I have never had a husband," the Bidalaksha'Virazhoi said cheerfully. "My Chirugeons say that helps you live longer." She sounded terribly bemused by it, as if laughing at a private joke, and Daenerys wished desperately she knew what a Chirugeon was.

"Perhaps I am young and foolish... and know very little that I should, and do not even know what I lack, but..." Daenerys trailed off, feeling off-balance as they came to shore. There was something truly disconcerting about the Bidalaksha'Virazhoi.

"You lack pride in womankind," the Valach Queen answered, and slamming a hand down on the bulwark flipped herself with the grace of a dancer and the strength of a Knight down onto her boots on the sand of the beach. "I am no cripple in body, Dragon-Queen, and I extend the same to you. I will teach you how to use the muscles of a woman to your advantage and to develop them as is the birthright of womankind. Among the Valach, it is Valach women who rule, my daughters. You saw one on the flagship of the central squadron, ordering your men about. They are the cat-people, for they have cat's blood and live in the night, and fear the sea and the day. They are mine, but I am not of them. I am older, and on my world, of the same caliber as your blood in Old Valyria. Come, you are not soft anymore. We'll walk together inland." She turned back, and with a look of bemusement, seemed almost beguiling.

Daenerys turned back to whisper to Jorah, using the Common Tongue. "How did she _do_ that?"

"Finer muscles than any woman I have seen before," Jorah answered. "A dancer, perhaps. It isn't a trick which could overcome a man at arms, though it does mean she's very hale."

Daenerys nodded and switched back to Valyrian to address her sister Queen again. "Am I not too old to learn these things?" She asked, glancing behind her toward Jorah in a gesture the Valach Queen could well interpret. "Would not it be better to learn to rule, and let the Queensguard defend me?"

"What is Queenship if you cannot hold what is your's by main force? Every sovereign must have one last recourse."

"My brother tried to hold the throne for my father by main force--and Robert the Usurper caved his chest in with a single hammer-blow. My father was betrayed and murdered by one of his sworn protectors--how did training as a knight help him? What good does it do, when all the knights of Westeros are so much larger and stronger than I?"

The Bidalaksha'Virazhoi paused, and turned back to look archly at Daenerys. "I will show you tonight when your men are comfortably ashore, since some things cannot be defended by words alone. And if you are daring enough, Royal Sister, you may join us." 

That got her dragon-blood up in her veins. A daring smile faced the Valach Queen back. "My thanks," she said modestly, but Daenerys consciously turned away from Jorah's concerned expression. She would see some of the truth behind the cryptic riddles, as terrible in their own way as Quaithe's, which the Queen seemed to love to speak in. 

\----

When they arrived at the camp, they were greeted by the tents being organised into tidy rows and columns. Rare was there a military disciplined enough to do this, except for the legendary Golden Company. Another group of the short, muscularly powerful Valach under arms waited for them in columns and rows, having been drawn up in advance of the Valach Queen's arrival. The ships of the Valach Queen were immense, but well-built and looking sleek and fast despite their size. Daenerys thought there must be close to a thousand Valach spearmen drawn up for her here. But now the women were also visible. Also in armour, they were carrying _crossbows,_ glimmering with bronze gears and cranks, with sword and small target shield with them. 

"There must be three thousand in the camp, but she can keep six of those great ships at sea, at least," Jorah commented softly to Daenerys. "That means they must have at least forty-five hundred, and the men probably row with their spears and breastplates at their side on the bench. Free men on the oars, well-trained, will beat thrice their number of galleys manned with slave oarsmen: They'll outmanoeuvre them when ramming, and then the oarsmen will take up arms and reinforce the Marines when they board. That's why the Ironborn are so feared even in Essos."

In the centre of the camp, around the ruins of some Valyrian villa which had stood on the outskirts of Velos, a set of great round tents that looked exceptionally sturdy were erected. Daenerys' bloodriders and handmaids looked on approving, they were surely the work of plainsmen. "As she said, her own people fear the sea. She must command great respect to make sailors of them."

"Or fear," Jorah frowned. A large group of cloaked and cowled figures approached, and bowed to the Valach Queen as she approached. She extended a hand with her fingers spread, and spoke in another foreign tongue. The figures bore parasols against the sun, on top of the swathing of clothes that they wore.

Then she turned. "The Sisters of my Order," the Valach Queen introduced them, and then raised her voice higher. "I am come with my Royal Sister, Daenerys Khaleesi, the Stormborn, to treat. She is a friend and we will treat her as a friend and grant her the fullest of hospitality!"

Then she turned back to Daenerys. With her, three stepped closer, and the Valach Queen presented the short one first, her features sharp and drawn and pallid, but once brown, with tight rows of hair that seemed almost a wig peaking from her shawl, and abandoned the parasol as the sun was now falling below the cedars. 

"Merneith, the Mistress-of-Camp," the Valach Queen introduced. 

Merneith bowed deeply and ostentatiously to Daenerys. "Every need you have will be met by our Valach servants," she offered politely. Her eyes were faded like the Valach Queen's

Next was a tall woman of great dignity, with sharply intense black eyes which like Merneith's were faded, and long dark straight hair as her shawl had fallen around her shoulders with the sun fading. She had a curved sword at her side and wore maille and trousers. She bowed, as well, shorter but still polite. 

"Admiral Azakokht," the woman introduced herself. 

"The commander of my naval forces, and with Merneith, my eldest companions," the Valach Queen noted. 

The third woman was short but immensely strong, like the Valach. She was dressed elaborately with feathers over a simple tunic dress, and her hair hung long and straight and her skin still had a visible tinge of russet. She looked calmly and impassively at Daenerys, and then dipped her head. 

"Lady Eight Skulls," the Valach Queen noted simply and then turned at Daenerys side to lead her to where sophisticated wooden folding camp chairs had been set up before the largest of the tents. There was a boiled substance, hot and black, as well as more familiar wines. Daenerys, who always loved trying new food, experimented with the bitter sweetness of it.

" _Tea,_ " the Valach Queen observed. "It invigorates the mind and body."

"Thank you." Daenerys looked around. "Your... Order?" 

"An order of women--scholars, soldiers--meant to preserve an ancient civilisation's mores and customs, though it spread from that point. I am the head of one branch," she observed, "if you wish to say it that way, and separately, Queen of the Valach."

"And what is the objective of your order?" Daenerys looked around, aware again of the great prominence of women. 

"To avenge our sisters," the Valach Queen answered. 

"And your sisters are?" 

"You, Your Handmaids, the Valach women, every living woman and girl." 

Daenerys could tell, dimly, that the Valach Queen was being true, but also not true. There was something uneasy about the group of women, there was something uncertain about their objectives. She would be as cautious in revealing her own plans to the Valach Queen as the Valach Queen was to her. "You promised me a demonstration," she said, moving on of her own volition.

"Of course." 

Merneith had returned, dressed in full armour, with a heavy shield and sword. With her was another taller woman, with hair in dark ringlets, another member of the Order.

"Echiphyle is one of our finest warriors," the Valach Queen smiled. 

"Bronze armour, Your Grace?" Jorah looked in surprise at the relative primitiveness of it, even by Northern standards it was rare, and spoke of being a Wildling or from the poorest of clans. 

"We know a way to make Bronze as strong as steel, and it is our old custom," the Valach Queen answered. Then she looked to the two sisters. "Disarm each other," she ordered sharply.

The women clashed. Shields bashing, going low, several times they rolled across the ground, flinging one from the other to spin up and lunge in close as fast as they could, shields slamming into each other, incredible energy in fluid motions, swords driving each other back, sharp, steady motions meant to strike home, blades skittering off of greaves. The Queen of the Valach folded her arms across her chest and silently watched. Jorah was impressed. It wasn't the game men might have expected, it wasn't some idle fancy of these sisters. He could tell he would face a real challenge from their skill. These were the fights of women who ought have acquired callouses for it. Sparks ran across the difference of metal, of bronze meeting steel, which proved the Queen's point.

The old squire of the pit fighter was watching carefully, and there was more than a little grudging respect in more than a few eyes, as Daenerys stared utterly fascinated at it, never having seen the like before, as even the warrior women she had seen... well. Fighting bare breasted with iron rings in your nipples and rubies in your cheek was different from this. 

The fight continued, by the standards of a fight, for an inordinately long time. Despite the advantages of reach and strength, steadily inertia wore in the smaller Merneith's favour, and it was subtle to ken why: She was smaller, but she was more skilled, and was using less of her body's energy as the high-intensity fight continued, which was slowly wearing out her opponent, until at last her sword lashed into the air and Echiphyle's smoothly went flying away from her in return. But the fight didn't end. Merneith drew back in repose, her sword at the rest and ready, and the other woman attacked her. What followed was a very impressive two or three minutes of the taller woman managing to hold her own trying to disarm with mailed fists a woman still armed with her sword. Finally the Valach Queen rose.

"Sister Echiphyle, the order is rescinded." 

The grounded and disarmed woman relaxed, and Merneith fell back in repose. Then Echiphyle rose, bowed politely, and it was returned by the short woman. Thence, together, they returned to the tent from whence they had come. 

Daenerys couldn't help it; she rose and clapped after the bow was complete by the two of them, even if she was very alone in doing so, until a few other grudging claps followed along at the sight of such a skilled performance. To her it was finer than anything she had yet seen. That kind of skill was rare and grand. 

"So I have very few Taurakathapi, as the Sisters are called. But you have seen them, now." She moved to sit down again, addressing the group. "Friends of the Sovereign Lady, Queen of Westeros, your desire is to make her sovereign in fact as well as right in that far-off land, I understand. My Sister Queen," she smiled. "I will help thee."

Daenerys rocked back in shock. _She asked nothing. She spoke nothing of my plans, she... Just offers her help?_ She trembled in the feeling of emotion, of this older woman, clearly well-experienced, but with a small and powerful force, simply giving her assistance. She rose, and the very pale-skinned girl, though not so pale as the woman before her, offered; "May the Seven bless you, I thank you, Royal Sister... your help will be appreciated and rewarded, this I promise you."

"There is no need, it is a favour, and I hope only for the favour to be returned some-time in the future when it may be needful," the Valach Queen answered idly. 

Jorah and the man at Strong Belwas' side both stiffened, but neither said a thing. They read more into the words. 

Daenerys willfully chose not to, in this hour when she needed help so urgently. 

"What is your plan, then?" The Bidalaksha'Virazhoi asked idly as she crossed her legs and looked at the fire now roaring. 

Even now, Daenerys did not reveal it. Instead, she just smiled. "I am going to Astapor to buy an Army." 

"Then, I will send some forces to Astapor with you, while the rest of my number hold down the Isle of Cedars, so we have some sort of base of recourse for our ships. You know the local conditions better than I, and I will support you." 

"Thank you." Daenerys thought back to the women, and looked down at herself. But she remembered how the smaller defeated the larger of the two women. There was a fraction of a wince at what she was asking for, but she fixed the Queen with an intent look. "I would request a teacher of your people, that I might learn your arts. If they are suited to one of my form... I shall not be helpless again."

The Valach Queen _smiled._ "I will teach you myself."

One fault of the girl's pale skin was how easily blushed showed, but her face broke into a smile; "Thank you, Royal Sister, you are too kind, truly." That was not making Ser Jorah the happiest man ever, as he tensed at the thought of Daenerys subjected to the kind of training that those two fighting sisters, the _Taurakathapi,_ must have had.

Pallid eyes barely moved a fraction, but they had _definitely_ noticed. "Ser Jorah, I would assume you are justly concerned I am going to give Her Majesty an enormous degree of overconfidence in intensely dangerous situations which will lead her only to further harm?"

He looked a bit uncomfortable, before giving a nod in reply. "Men of Westeros find women at arms unnatural, and will attack recklessly to avoid looking as if they had to work for their victory. The profession of arms is a career of a lifetime, and she is already in her fifteenth year. Your Grace."

"It is true. We preferred to take girls for the Taurakapthi much younger than that, in the olden days. Still..." The Valach Queen smiled. "Well, if she hadn't lived among steppe nomads I'd refuse. I think that is enough youthful preparation, however. That she survived has hardened her to the point training can begin. I will take into account the lack of proper muscle formation in young age. There is no need to transform a fine noble lady into a brute, though, when it is done properly. Look at me." 

"Still, Majesty, she will not have the proper time to devote to this... she is not as a woman of my house would be at her age." 

The Valach Queen looked with a sort of wary respect to the little winged shapes curled up around their mother to sleep. Then she spoke in a voice that held the faintest hint of condescension. "Ser Jorah, she can only retake her homeland with the Dragons, making a quick assumption about the relative disposition of forces I grant; and the rider of a great beast of war is always the target, not the beast itself."

Jorah had the same quick answer for that which he had given before to Daenerys. "It will be years before the dragons are that large... Westeros is in chaos, and we should be making preparations to strike immediately, while the child Joffrey is on the throne, before he comes of age and settles his rule." 

"The reign of a usurper is never settled. It's why usurpation is so rarely successful in the long term," the Valach Queen answered a bit tartly. "At any rate, the moment Her Majesty has an army, they will be waiting for us--unless they sincerely think all of her line is dead, and even if they do, they will know differently when we have an army. One does not simply acquire an army without one's foes finding out about it. It just isn't done successfully, ever. Advancing immediately is what they'll expect. Why play into the hands of the regime? A usurping dynasty takes more than an extra five years to be established by long usage and familiarity. If we can succeed now, we can succeed then." 

"They have already ruled for twenty."

"Still." The Valach Queen shrugged. "Well, I'll help either way."

"The smallfolk care only if a King brings them peace and food, not the symbol they bear on their banner." Jorah tried the counter-argument again, and it was starting to draw attention once more from Daenerys, as he wouldn't let it go. "They are across the sea, by the time they learned the Queen was coming, she would already be at their gates, and they have nothing but rumour. Khaleesi-" He turned his attention to Daenerys "-the iron is hot and the time to strike is as soon as possible." 

The Valach Queen glanced to the ground, frowning. "I have forty-five hundred women and men I would trust in main battle on land, all infantry, and thirty-six wagon-mounted _cherioballistae_ -crossbow artillery," she clarified after a moment, "portable enough for the job when dismounted from ships. How big of an army do you think my Royal Sister can acquire in Astapor that it makes this desperate lunge so worthwhile?"

His reply--and they kept attracting attention all the while--was; "I do not know, sellswords would be a much superior choice, bu-" He was cut off by the younger woman, who stood, and in a voice of hammered iron spoke; "Ser Jorah, we have decided this issue, and I will not have you question it again!" - which made him flinch with a bow, and cease to speak. There was something of a ripple of surprise amongst her non-Dothraki followers at the sharpness. 

The Valach Queen had the faintest of smiles. "I will join you on the voyage to Astapor personally. Merneith will remain in command here whilst I am gone." 

That was cause for another ripple of surprise, this one a very general one amongst her entire group--keen eyes were measuring her--others had flickers of wariness, or even fear, while others cared not at all. The much smaller woman beside her looked up and offered; "You have my thanks for this." 

"I would be a fool to allow an enterprise I had just accepted to engage upon to falter on account of the lack of my presence. Come, we have all enjoyed the night well, but we will have to leave quickly to make up time on your voyage so it would not do well for us to tarry."

"Of course. Ser Jorah, arrange the re-embarkation, if you please. We will sail at sunrise, Royal Sister?" She did ask, to check on whether the course of action was acceptable. 

"Yes. Get your rest, Dragon Queen. I shall retire now, your tent is next to mine." 

She gave a grateful nod at that, and would retire with one of her Dothraki handmaidens for the evening. Soon enough, Daenerys would be sound asleep, though in the grips of some sort of nightmare, while her handmaiden Jhiqui slept at the foot of the "bed" on her own pile of cloth. A bloodrider stood outside at guard.

The Bidalaksha'Virazhoi had no difficulty in slipping into the tent unnoticed, anyway. There would be a very gentle brush of a somewhat cool hand across Daenerys' cheek. "You sleep uncomfortably," she murmured softly. The voice lilted to more of an accent. She was folded up in an ornate spreading skirt of countless ridiculously vibrant colours of a warm sea, the only garment on her upper body a tight bodice buttoned with ornate bone buttons when synched. 

At the touch, Daenerys' face contorted into a frown, and the girl shifted in her sleep with another restless murmur, rolling to tangle herself in the thin sheet; "... sun and stars..." she mumbled with a gasp, though even the touch did not drive her to wake. 

"...Sleep..." The Valach Queen settled on saying, softly and simply. _I will not bother her_. She was bemused with her own motherliness. The next day Daenerys would find herself rested, and that the sky was gently hazy.

The Valach Queen would be waiting with a simple vest drawn over a dress which otherwise would have revealed her bodice. "Simple" was of course denying the ornateness of it, the brilliant colours which were so lush. She'd let her hair fall into its natural curls and wound a few strings of pearls into it and settled around that a circlet of gold. A sword was buckled at her side; the dress, though of absurdly rich fabric and colourings, left her legs free for radically sharp movements, rather than being tight, with how it grew outwards. She regarded the three ships rather impassively when they went aboard. She had seen better in her day. She had better with her.

They at least had a good leader of the squadron, though the Captain was seen making a warding sign whence the Valach Queen came aboard the great cog.

Aboard the great cog, there was muttering, even as the Targaryen heir smiled at her--carefully getting her three children back aboard, her dragons... and while she had seen better, they could sail in their little group, with good sailors. Daenerys had a crown, but wore it not--a loose dress of blue was all she tended to wear at sea, and she tended to look a little wan next to the Valach Queen, who, it had to be said by the mutterings, looked a Queen, and even the Dothraki would acknowledge this. 

The Valach Queen saw the murmurs as she stood on the quarterdeck with Daenerys and the Captain. "I wear the clothes of my people, fine seafairers. You'll have luck, and if we're lost..." She just had a Valach lad along to carry things, looking suitably cowed at being so close to his mistress for a long voyage. She seemed disinterested in risking any of her Sisters on the journey, who were just bringing her things down to the cabin and then retreating. "Well, I have one of my boys carrying some useful things. Do you have a sunstone, captain?"

"Don't even know that the thing is, m'lady, never needed such a thing before. We'll to Astapor, sure enough all the same." He seemed quite confident in that, at least. "A week or two at most." 

"Of course," she said, not bothering to bait the man, and walked back to Daenerys and Jorah, looking curious. "Tell me, do you know of the sunstone?" 

Daenerys looked blank, and Jorah would only, after some careful thinking reply; "No, Majesty. If it is a thing of ships, perhaps the Ironborn know of it, but they are fearsome reavers of the sea." 

"Hrrm. Well. My mother would have never let me put to sea on a ship like this," she remarked rather fondly. "But we will be fine." She did not mind the sea, clearly. Quite the contrary. One of her dromon was raising its sails to trail them, as she had promised.

That night, since they'd have to share a cabin, the Valach Queen settled down on the deck, and unfolded some papyrus maps of the bay she'd made, and Daenerys found her comparing them to a box that had a floating spoon on it, having drawn on paper the last light through a strange little stone, which must be the sunstone she had spoken of, and then marking off ticks as a little bronze gear mechanism worked above it. 

"All I can do alas is mark the declination between the bearing of the bow to the sun at sunrise, sunset, and midday, and the bow to the Pole and record it for each sighting I take. The device must be wound exactly at midday each day to be useful," she would explain after a while as Daenerys watched her. "By doing this the second set of gears roughly estimates how far we have traveled and how far north and south the distance traveled for the day is, based on a secondary winding that marks how long the sunstone retains the sun after sunset in very small increments."

"I have better devices, but the are useless on your world because the anomalies of your sun, and your moon and your planets are all different than those of my world, but I can use this one since it accounts for the size of the sun to deal with the variation of seasons--and I made that measurement when I first arrived."

Daenerys stared sharply at her like she were a madwoman. "Your... _World_?"

"I promised not to lie," the Valach Queen answered immodestly. "My world." 


	3. The Dragon Queen's Design

“Another world? Japes are unbecoming of another Queen at a time like this,” Daenerys said, though in her heart, she knew it wasn’t a jape. Still, it gave her time to collect her thoughts.

“No jape is this.” The Bidalaksha’Virazhoi looked quite levelly at her. She unfolded one of her maps. “The Roman Empire,” she said calmly, “though it has gotten larger subsequently.”

“That...” Daenerys leaned over her on the rocking deck of the ship and looked down, intently. “So many cities...” She recognised that much of a map. “Why is it divided into two parts?”

“There was a West and an East. The West used magic more strongly to bind itself together, and was more conservative. The East... Was my home, until my enemies destroyed my city.”

“And if all you speak is true, how did you come here?”

“It’s easy to pierce the veil of worlds to the west of the Isle of Cedars,” the Valach Queen answered.

With dreadful certainty, Daenerys knew she was claiming to have journeyed through Valyria. In that moment, she cared not if the rest was true or not. If the Valach Queen had really come from Valyria, she would trust her. But only if. “Find a way to prove it,” Daenerys said, her voice laced with tension, but admitting no fear.

“Easily done. I found this, when I arrived.” She rose, and reached for her trunk, and drew forth from it a blade, an _enormous_ two-hander. “Show it to your Westerosi men. I’ll finish my calculations while you do.”

Daenerys took the enormous blade, which reminded her of how small she was, and with a look to how calmly the Valach Queen returned to her strange box of bronze gears, placed it over a shoulder and went to find Ser Jorah.

When she did, she watched him turn pale as a ghost.

“Khaleesi, who.... Gave that... To you?” Jorah almost stumbled over his words.

Arstan Whitebeard was also looking at it in the rolling cabin, in a sense of wonderment.

Daenerys looked between the two. “It is the Valach Queen’s. She says it is proof that she has traveled through the old Freehold. Is this true?”

“It is, Your Grace,” Arstan answered, shaking his head. “That is Brightroar, the sword of the Lannister lost on the expedition of King Tommen, Second of His Name, to Valyria.”

“Then I shall return it to the Valach Queen, with my compliments for her honesty.” She left the two Westerosi men behind to speak as they pleased about the portent, and whether or not it was good or ill.

Daenerys returned to the cabin she shared with the Valach Queen. Irri and Jhiqui were staying very far in the back now, casting glances at the Valach Queen.

Irri dared in Dothraki: “ _She is very much a sorceress, Khaleesi._ ”

“ _She is,”_ Daenerys agreed, “ _But we must have her help. I will not trust her, I promise._ ”

The handmaidens made a warning gesture toward the Valach Queen, but relented, slightly.

Daenerys extended the sword, hilt first, to the Valach Queen, who reached out and took it and crossed it on her lap. “I’m satisfied you came through Valyria. Will you tell me... What it is like?”

“Ruins,” the Valach Queen answered. She made a few notations and closed the box. “It is not a good thing to dwell on, Daenerys Queen.”

Daenerys decided that was still formal enough to not take offence. Then she decided to turn the tables on it. “That’s fair. Call me Daenerys, we are equals...?”

The Valach Queen looked to her. There was a dull look in her eyes, reminding Daenerys that she was a sorceress. “I will be formal, if you don’t mind.”

 _I do mind,_ Daenerys thought, but she understood that the Valach Queen feared, it seemed, using her name. “All right,” she answered. “It can wait.”

Sailing the sea, Daenerys retired, to another of her dreams. By the time they were nearing Astapor, her handmaids had discerned that the Valach Queen did not sleep until almost dawn, when she would drift into a short, sharp, intense sleep for a while and then rouse again, luxuriously late by other standards, but three hours at most , and never worse the wear for it. They grudgingly had to trust her to keep watch on Daenerys when she slept.

It was because of that, that the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi was on hand to, in the crowded quarters of the ship, fold Daenerys into a lightly tender embrace whilst she slept, without waking her, when her nightmares came.

That calmed Daenerys’ nightmares, and seemed much more pleasant, as the Dragon-Queen was smiling in her sleep, and her eyes fluttered open after it had passed, to confusion at the gesture. "Royal... Sister... what are...?"

"You were uncomfortable in your sleep, having nightmares or dreams of fits. I am old enough to be your mother. Sometimes these things come of habit. I find denying them to be silly, so I gave a girl young enough to be daughter a hug.”

She still blushed at it from the older woman. "... Dreams. Though they were pleasant, for once... I was my eldest brother Rhaegar, leading my army to the Trident to fight the Usurper... except I was on a dragon. Whence I arrived, they were drawn up, but their armor and weapons were of ice... and so I burned and melted them all, turning the Trident into a raging torrent. It was a dream, and I knew it, but I wished and almost believed that... this life was the dream, and that was what should have been."

"No, dreams have meaning. I will hold it in my memory and you should also. Your world has more in it than your people care to realize--typical, that. Romans back home could be very dismissive of older powers, too."

"I do not even know enough to be dismissive, Sister - so if you say my dreams have meaning... I will remember them. Would writing them in a book when I wake be wise?" She was rather sharp on the uptake, more so than most.

"Yes, but only a certain kind of book."

... The look she got was... inquisitive and confused all at once. "... Sister? What sort of book? I fear I do not understand..."

The woman fished through her belongings and bought out a fine wooden box, from whence she pressed her hand down firmly against the metal across the top, and though locked, it unlocked with a click, and she lifted the lid up, and took out one of a small set of very heavily bound works, worked in leather with bones wrapped in more leather as reinforcing bands and crossed over with iron and three chains. There was a lock but no hole for a key. "It is unbound, so make it your bound book, bleed against the lock-plate, and then it will only unlock to the press of your hand henceforth."

"Write everything in it you wish to write but to never let anyone else know."

She looked skeptical for a moment, before nodding, well recalling that all magic worked on the principle of blood, at least that she had so far known. "How much blood will I have to spill for this... gift, Sister? For it is a gift, and a thing beyond price, that much I know. No such thing exists in the Seven Kingdoms, except perhaps in legend. You are generous. Most generous indeed."

"Accept an honest amount of pain from pressing firmly a dagger to the pad of the finger, and hold it down against the iron until you have ceased to bleed. Then it will be done."

"Thank you, again, I... well. We will be arriving today, the Captain says, and these will be interesting negotiations to be sure. I think you will be interested to watch them." Daenerys, a part of her who had never known her mother wanted to impress the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi. She had never seen a woman acting Queenly before. In the other part, she was trying to cover for not having a dagger at hand right then and there to ready the book; it seemed embarrassing before this woman, and she resolved to remedy it.

Unfortunately, the Valach Queen was enormously perceptive. She smiled very indulgently, and silently pressed a dagger into Daenerys' lap. It looked like something of a work of art, with beautifully inlaid scenes of hunting in the handle and hefty pommel. "Keep it somewhere fast, Daenerys. You know enough to surprise and stab someone, now."

Daenerys blushed at first at being found out so easily, and then looked at it. Of all the gifts she had been given in her short life, mostly in Qarth, this one seemed of a particular significance. It was as beautiful as the others, but it was also a weapon.

“I... I cannot accept this. You offer me so much, and I nothing in turn.” Daenerys looked at the Valach Queen, who remained quiet, unblinkingly watching her. The blade just sat there, and so, reluctantly, she reached to pick it up and take the scabbard off just enough to view the blade proper. It was not Valyrian steel, at least.

"You must have it,” the Bidalaksha said, finally. “I cannot let you perish when I have agreed to advance your cause."

\----------

A few hours later they had pulled into the harbour. The Valach Queen rose from where she had been curled on the bed, taking a nap in the noonday sun, and changed, before stepping over to Daenerys. "Come, let us go up-deck and see Astapor."

Daenerys hesitated for a moment, remembering the blade the Valach Queen had just given her. She tucked it into a fold of her dress and headed up-deck with the other woman. Together, standing on the deck, they could see the men—they were slaves, ashore—working the ropes to haul them in to port. The Bidalaksha’s Dromon did not follow them in; it had hove off to the south before they had entered the harbour. Clearly, she had some plan for that, and Daenerys did not bother to ask after it, considering what she was keeping secret herself.

Astapor stood before them, with its' great pyramids and the domes of the Temple of the Graces looked impressive, and a crumbling wall surrounding the city showed just how superficial it was, with the harbour crammed with ships from across the seas, all here to buy the city's one main export: Slave soldiers. Very few other kinds they trained, and the finest of them all were the legendary Unsullied.

Dust rolled up from the streets and greeted them before they had even gone ashore, as their trio of ships was fastened hard to the dock. there was some old echo of forgotten glories, but... now, now that seemed all so very, very gone. Ghiscar had fallen far. They finally had the opportunity to descend the gangplank, and their party went ashore, strolling through the streets.

Daenerys was acutely aware that she was looking for a slave-market.

The Valach Queen strolled alongside her, under a parasol in her colourful and very Queenly garb. The great, brazen mass of colour that she wore attracted attention, and perhaps that attention distracted many from the sword at her side that was strapped to her belt despite the finery she did wear. The brightness of the sun seemed, Daenerys thought, to bring a mirthless smile to her lips, and she had a slightly melancholy expression, swathed from the neck down in the grandeur of her dress, wearing a shawl and with the parasol to shade her face.

People hawked goods or slaves at them, depending on where they were, as they finally got themselves oriented. The tall Bidalaksha and small Daenerys were quite the pair, looking something of dark and light together, despite the Bidalaksha’s colourful clothes.

As they walked, Daenerys found herself doubting. “This is a terrible place to gain an Army,” she spoke, shaking her head.

“Why do you think there are betters, Dragon-Queen?” the Bidalaksha asked more formally.

“It is _wicked,_ and ill,” Daenerys insisted, looking up to the elder woman with a grimace. “I have a plan, but...”

"Then execute your plan,” the Bidalaksha cut her off, and Daenerys blinked hard and forced down a stab of a dragon’s anger. “Do not discuss it with me,” the Bidalaksha continued, “if it is what you would have done without me here, and you know that in your heart. Do not start second guessing yourself simply because I have some wisdom laying around. That's a quite way to bring my tart tongue down on you for busily turning yourself into a fool."

Daenerys’ stiffening up and flash of hot anger helped her. She _would_ take the advice, and not sacrifice her pride to this woman, who was true enough to tell her not to. "Of course...” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Have your blade with you whence we are away from the ship, then."

“Of course,” the Bidalaksha smiled.

\------

It was the next day when Daenerys finally came before the Good Masters to negotiate for the purchase of Unsullied. The woman that Daenerys knew simply as the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi lurked at the back of her party, and watched her. She had dressed in something more practical for the second day, with her sword at her side and her parasol foldled up under the shade of the wall of the courtyard.

By any mark, the Unsullied were impressive. They reminded her of a Makedonian Phalanx, with their pikes and their rigid, precise, lockstep motions. One would be hard-pressed to find a finer force of arms, to be sure.

The Bidalaksha mused on the story of this world. In some ways, it had grandeur to exceed her own, though even Valyria, she thought, paled before the older pages of the story of her own. Yet Valyria had dragons, and so did this girl.

It was dragons that shocked her. The promise Daenerys made before her, to trade a Dragon for the whole Army of Unsullied of the city, watching the Good Masters go almost wild with greed and avarice at the prospect of controlling a living dragon. _She treats them like children. It is a ruthless bargain. Still, of bargains fairly met, it will give her an Army. Combine it with mine, and we will have eighteen thousand troops. That is enough._

It was still an amazing sacrifice, and there was no surprise that the squire, Arstan Whitebeard, had protested it so voiciferously for a squire. Indeed, the Bidalaksha had almost thought to protest, but she had no interest in harming Daenery’s confidence—quite the contrary. She saw Daenerys return toward her with the small girl-child, the slave who had translated—a gift, as casual as that. This, the use of slaves so, did not surprise the Bidalaksha, though their condition here was worse than in most places she was familiar with, and the particular vehemence with which Daenerys had come to regard slavery was something she found to be frankly odd. 

The Bidalaksha fell in alongside of the girl and Daenerys, hearing her name and manumission as she did. For a moment, the eyes of this child, this Missandei, looked up to catch her, and between the ten year old and the Valach Queen, a moment of understanding took place: The Bidalaksha knew she was confronting a prodigy, a genius of no small ability. She could also tell that Missandei had immediately recognised she was more than just a hanger-on around the Queen, and indeed, might be very dangerous.

The Bidalaksha could also tell that the girl implicitly trusted Daenerys to protect her despite that. A grin touched her lips as she turned to Daenerys. "You didn't leave us any way to get back to the island, Dragon-Queen," she spoke as Missandei and Daenerys finished their conversation.

She looked up, very calmly indeed. "Yes, I have, Royal Sister." For someone who had just promised to sell one of her dragon-children into slavery, her composure was very great, even if it was a tense sort of it.

The Bidalaksha grinned. “Ships are easy to obtain, you’re right.”

As they returned to the ship, she took her time to make her judgement of Missandei complete. In her intelligence and the wisdom behind her eyes, the Bidalaksha thought there was far more potential than in almost any living woman she had known, who was not using thaumaturgy, at any rate. It was far more than anyone her age should have. Kraznys had given away far more than he had thought in this girl. "She would make an ephebe, if she wanted to be one. She would be Merneith's equal," the Valach Queen finally spoke as they reached the gangplank.

"She is my handmaiden..." Daenerys looked over to Missandei, and addressed her directly. "But I give you leave to accept my Royal Sister's offer, if you wish."

The girl blinked, and looked to the other woman; "Queen Daenerys gave this one her freedom, Your Grace, and this one knows not what you offer."

"It is not urgent. I will let you meet Merneith and learn more about what I speak."

"This one will wait." came her soft reply to the offer, as Daenerys gave a small smile.

"You can use your name, Missandei, but I understand it will take time."

"Well, it's a good practice not to," the Valach Queen mused. "Names have power."

Daenerys gave her a sharp look at that.

The Valach Queen looked back down at her in return, grin touching her lips at the imperiousness of it. "It is a simple fact, that I deal in the Hidden World, so I must be careful of such things. I am the Bidalaksha'virazhoi. That is enough. Perhaps,” she added, “we should all follow Missandei’s example.”

"I hope someday you will gift me with your name, Bidalaksha'virazhoi, sister... but I shall not ask it. Now,” the sun was going down, “let us eat, and sleep. Tomorrow will be a day to remember.”

When Daenerys said that, the Bidalaksha thought she had an inclining of what it would be. Her grin was particularly predatory as she retired belowdecks. "Yes, it will be."

\-------------

The next day, Daenerys led her dragons to the Place of Arms, where the Good Masters waited to receive Drogon in exchange for the Army of the Unsullied. In the morning, after dawn, when the Bidalaksha normally rose, she pulled on a light coat of scale over her underclothes from within her trunk.

The armouring got her a look shot from Daenerys as she took breakfast. The Bidalaksha just grinned. _It will be very interesting to see what you are doing._ In truth, the reason she needed it was not so prosaic, but either way, it would only be necessary in hard battle. With her hands behind her back, she followed along behind Daenerys amongst the Bloodriders, Jorah, Strong Belwas and Arstan, as if she were one more of the motley number of guards.

“Well, we have finally got enough for a Queensguard,” Jorah made a jape as they walked, “but what a motley one it is.”

“If it keeps the Queen alive, it is Queensguard enough, Ser,” Arstan answered.

The Bidalaksha’s mind drifted back to days when she had been a mere guard, a mere brave woman with a sword. It had been much longer than she cared to remember, and that emphasized her tiredness, her exhaustion within the world around her. Without Maxian’s terrified apotheosis, she would have slept, and perhaps that time it would have been her last. But she had made a promise long ago to be free from the power of men, and that promise carried her onwards and away from Rome and the false patina Maxian was working over the bones of her beloved city.

The night before, she had felt shadows around her and the Queen, and drawn a veil over herself in the Hidden World for it. Nothing had come of it, but it was certainly a day of portents today, that much, she could be confidence of. She hung back as a mere silent presence with Ser Jorah and the other armed retainers of the Queen of Dragons.

Daenerys in her litter approached the Good Masters, and she descended from it, with Drogon, Missandei at her side. They began to speak, with Kraznys defaming the Queen again and again. Finally, Daenerys advanced to hand Drogon off to Kraznys...

And the Good Master could not keep control of his new dragon, but Daenerys had the _Whip of Command._ The pale eyes of the Bidalaksha narrowed.

"Slay the Good Masters, the soldiers, slay every man that wears a Tokar or holds a whip, strike the chains off every slave!"

“ _Dracarys_!”

Composed but surprised, for a moment the Bidalaksha simply watched as, in perfect grace, the Unsullied turned as one, turned on the Good Masters, and began to kill, as Kraznys burned. As the little dragons proved perfectly big enough to burn.

The Valach Queen was focused utterly on Daenerys. She had seen her great confidence, her composure in the moment come to life. It vindicated every single measure that she had taken to support the woman so far. Here was a _Queen,_ a Royal power, dangerous and regal, proud and confident. _Your silence was your greatest weapon in her favour, for make no mistake, she had planned this before you even met her, and your refusal to question and prod, gave her the confidence not to be dispirited. She would have done this no matter what, except that you demoralised her by acting too wise. She is a star you can hitch yourself to; she will go far, and there are possibilities with her power at your side on this world that you could have never dreamed of in the grasp of the Oath of Rome. Now, quickly, before the chance to recover a bit of strength leaves with the blood-drenched ichor on the Pikes of the Unsullied!_

With a sharp click, she shook her sword from the scabbard, and then drew it was flung toward the nearest of those making to flee. She gored the man through, and then pulled for her blade. “Come now! Follow the Pike! We have killing to do, for the Dragon-Queen’s Command!”


	4. Slaves and Liars

The Bidalaksha’Virazhoi did not return until almost evening. A while before she did return, just after Daenerys’ address to the Unsullied granting them their freedom, and speech asking for them to follow her, met with the tramping of their spears, atop the highest pyramid in the city, a brilliant green flame was seen, attracting much attention for the few minutes that it brightly burned. The Dragon Queen had, in dignity, ignored the portent, and dismissed her newfound soldiery to their cantonments and guard posts. With the rest of her dazed and exhausted party at her side, but without a whip, and her dragons circling overhead and having contributed to the destruction with the soldiers, they had headed to look for a place to sleep.

It was then that she found the Bidalaksha, with her outergarments flecked with blood; she had fought, clearly. “Your soldiers did well beyond measure, Daenerys. They took all the galleys so they did not escape to bring word to the other cities. And my own Dromon are arriving now.”

Daenerys jerked her head toward the harbour at that declaration, and indeed, nine massive and long fighting ships of the heaviest rate, with double-banked oars sweeping, were heading in. She quickly put the two events together. “You were responsible for the fire from the temple, were you not? Wildfyre?”

“Something like it,” the Bidalaksha answered.

“Very efficient. I did not realise,” Daenerys said a bit pointedly, “that you had reserves waiting.” She turned to one of the Unsullied officers, and passed the order that the Bidalaksha’s galleys should be allowed ashore with their troops and that they were friends and allies.

“In case things go wrong, one should always have a last recourse. But things didn’t go wrong; still, it wasn’t a lack of trust, just a firm belief that proper planning and preparation wins wars.”

Daenerys nodded, and managed a nervous little grin, trying for humour with the Bidalaksha. “It was a very short war, Royal Sister.”

“It was,” she laughed in return. “It was. Come, we will go to the hall of the Good Masters.”

“I don’t wish to be seen in it,” Daenerys replied, sharply. “Let it be destroyed.”

“The compound itself is exactly where you should sleep, Royal Sister; however, since I am perfectly content with staying up tonight, I will tell you this: I will organise the people of the city to pull down the audience hall, tonight, without delay, even while you sleep in the apartments with the others. Let me organise the guard among the Unsullied, and establish regular order in the city. Rest. You deserve it after this triumph.”

Daenerys’ eyes flickered.

“Someone must keep the people of the city safe from disorder, Your Grace,” Arstan dared.

“He’s right,” Jorah agreed.

“Then,” Daenerys decided, looking long at the tall figure of the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi, “I leave the city in your good hands, Royal Sister.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” the Bidalaksha led them to the audience hall, through streets which were still damp with blood, and choked with corpses, past smouldering buildings and collapsed walls. From the waterfront, brassy trumpets sounded. The Bidalaksha’s troops were coming ashore.

\------

Daenerys had found her handmaidens insisted on weaving bells into her hair before she slept that night. As they did, they could already hear the rumble of brick coming down. But they were all so exhausted by the incredible events of the day, that Daenerys found no difficulty in sleeping, despite the energetic demolition of the audience hall.

The next day, Missandei had arranged for breakfast for Daenerys and her Dothraki handmaids. It was a simple but hearty meal, and afterwards, she had gone out to see that the audience hall of the Good Masters had in fact been completely demolished overnight. No smoke rose from the city, either.

Dressed in ceremonial lengths of fur over the neck despite the heat, helmets, scale, maille, and some bronze plate, armed with their heavy boar spears, the Valach stood guard alongside the Unsullied. The furry and rather squat Valach contrast with the extremely tall—for eunuchs made young tended to be tall—and lithely muscled Unsullied.

The Bidalaksha’Virazhoi sat under a massive parasol on a raised throne, next to a second throne which was empty, out in the open of the courtyard. Another woman whom Daenerys recognised as Merneith stood next to her, conversing with her. She had just dealt with some petitioners, or a meeting with some locals.

The Bidalaksha rose, and descended to greet Daenerys. “Good morning, Daenerys.”

“Good morning,” Daenerys answered. “You have been busy,” she said, and smiled a little at the vain expression of pride which for a moment flickered over the Bidalaksha’s features.

Merneith had descended at the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi’s side, and bowed. “ _O Pharaoh,_ we should convene a meeting of your advisors.”

“I agree, Lady Merneith.” Daenerys looked up to the Bidalaksha. In a way, she was relieved at the confidence of the woman’s subordinates, since it spoke the better of her. “Shall we?”

“Of course, Daenerys. Lead on?”

“Back to my apartments, then. You did not sleep, did you?”

“A short while at sun-up, actually,” the Bidalaksha answered indifferently. “It was busy. I brought nine hundred spears and nine hundred _Gastraphetoi_ —crossbowomen. The rest of the troops remain either on the galleys or Velos. My last four transports arrived, I am told; so all nineteen ships I have are here, now.”

“You kept order?” _It seems a little like nothing escapes her,_ Daenerys mused.

“Yes, we put out the fires by pulling down buildings, and we stopped the looting,” the Bidalaksha avowed.

“Thank you.” The expected individuals were there: The Bloodriders, Jorah, Strong Belwas and Arstan stood guard only, there was the Bidalaksha and Merneith and a few of the other ‘sisters’, the _Taurakathapi_ behind her. And there was Missandei.

The Bidalaksha, Daenerys saw, curled up with her back against a column, and Lady Eight Skulls, the intimidating woman with the ominous name, arrived and pressed some dark brown beverage to her, which the Bidalaksha seemed to accept with a soft thanks, and almost lean into as she drank it, faded, almost translucent blue eyes tracking the conversation.

“Khaleesi, we should move on at once. We have our Army, and powerful forces will combine against us if we remain here long, seeking to reverse the overthrow of Astapor and avenge the Good Masters. Many cities of the East have an interest in Astapor and they will not be pleased to lose their trade,” Jorah was saying.

Daenerys looked at her other advisors.

“We will go, but we will have to take more cities, to feed these eunuchs as they march, they will not live off the land like Dothraki,” Jhogo interjected. “Still, they will let us do this, and we will win much plunder and honour.”

Then Daenerys looked to the Valach Queen.

"It would be dishonourable," the Valach Queen would speak rather sharply, pale eyes flickering from man to man, "To leave the city to disorder. The surviving free men will seek to become Good Masters, the slaves will not know how to rule. Civil chaos will reign and Astapor will be vulnerable to attack from the outside, and all the horrors and rapine of the sack—perhaps more than once. The people of the city may even starve."

"Astapor was conquered by Valyria and ruled as one of its colonies,” she continued. “Queen Daenerys is the eldest surviving heir of the Valyrian nobility. She has as much right to the city as anyone else, having gained it by liberating its people. To make a long _Anabasis,_ a march up-country, with enemies all around, requiring us to plunder to sustain our Army, begs ultimate defeat. Here, Queen Daenerys may know she has a Kingdom to rule already."

"The Iron Throne is hers, not Slaver's Bay. What is the point of such a diversion, Your Grace?" Jorah asked in turn, a bit aggrieved. "She has her army... How, indeed, could we hold Astapor against the slaving cities of the whole world?" He looked sharply at the Valach Queen.

Daenerys listened to them. Then she cut them off. Her response was; "I have an army, but, Ser Jorah, Slaver's Bay is held by chains and blood. This is a fact; to abandon it would be to let it return to chains and blood, my Royal Sister is right. They call me Mother in the streets, and you would have me leave them? I would leave them their freedom, and march north, breaking those chains wherever they might be... but." She looked to the Valach Queen and focused on her. _What are you getting out?_ "You say I cannot leave them their freedom."

"You have given them the freedom of body, heart, mind, labour, coin. These freedoms are only maintained by main force in the absence of Government. To abandon them without a Queen to uphold their freedoms through good government and the enforcement of Law would be to place them under the Dominion of the Sword, and the Sword only. Royal sister, these freedmen cannot run a government on their own and I would be plain with you: It would be a dishonour to your line to leave Astapor without good government. You took this city by treachery. A _deserved treachery,_ for it is not wrong to betray the faith of slavers, Royal Sister. But still, it will look ill if you do not rule it well. You cannot leave it to be ruled by those who are still learning how to rule their own lives and passions, let alone a city of many tens of thousands."

Those pale blue eyes levelly met Daenerys’ violet ones. "To abandon the city, Queen Daenerys, would be to tell those who might consider fighting for you that you will not accept responsibility for those weaker than you when you have put them in that position. If you stay to organise the government of the city, you may rightfully justify that base treachery on the grounds it was necessary to liberate the people of Astapor."

"A Sovereign as a limited currency of trust, worthiness, reputation. You spent some of it for good cause in taking the city, as a matter of necessity. By leaving now, you would spend more than that action has left you with."

Daenerys’ eyes were lit with the intense anger she felt. _To think she lectures me so! Questions my honour!_ She rose to her feet, addressing the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi directly. "I will not leave the other cities of Slaver's Bay to continue while I remain here and let them, Royal Sister!"

Jorah spoke to agree, seeming to press his point while he had his chance. Daenerys caught the sudden change and her eyes narrowed even as she listened to Jorah speak. "If nothing else, they would combine against us and hire sellswords to march against the city. The city only has its' slaves for trade, but, Khaleesi, if you speak of a campaign to the north, that has all the dangers Her Grace the Queen of the Valach has warned of."

Daenerys shot her next look to Jorah as she moved to sit back down, to keep her subordinates from standing. “Why should Slaver's Bay remain, Ser Jorah? There are three cities, and Yunkai holds thousands of women to sell as bed slaves. I have had my maidenhead sold as well, Ser Jorah." She was angry, so, so angry. "I will break those chains... but if you say I must govern this city, Sister, then I will raise a nation of free women and men here if I must." She would not let anyone say she was dishonourable!

The Bidalaksha’Virazhoi politely dipped her head, the smallest fraction of an expression. "I see no reason why we cannot raise a larger army here. We have skilled men of war, and the Unsullied may be excellent with the Pike, but even men who are mediocre with the Pike can fight the best soldiers in the world on properly prepared ground. My sisters are skilled as Captains in open field and siege alike. The Valach add thousands to your ranks. Why can we not prepare an offensive to conquer Yunkai and Meereen _while holding Astapor_?"

"I would march before they can raise sellswords from throughout Essos, Royal Sister. I will take freedmen to fight, and the Unsullied, and I will march north and if I cannot leave them to rule, then they will... I..." A pause. "Then I will break the chains of Slaver's Bay. And I will learn to rule here. Over the entire bay."

The Bidalaksha’Virazhoi gave her a single nod. “Then we must have a government and enough troops to maintain order in Astapor. I recommend that we leave Unsullied as those troops, because while excellent on the battlefield, they are better still against civil disorder, as they will not pillage, steal, arrest falsely, or overreact against crowds demonstrating."

"Better to get young men who are experiencing liberty for the first time out of the city, and to leave loyal disciplined eunuch soldiers in it, as counterintuitive as that may be. If you mean to attack without delay, I also recommend attacking the largest of the cities immediately, not Yunkai but Meereen. Gut your largest enemy with the first strike, Royal Sister, the rest will fall at your leisure. We can transport the army by sea, as I can summon in fact ten fast transports now, and between them and the ships we have seized in the city, it will be little trouble to transport a large force. If Meereen has a navy to oppose us, my dromon of war will destroy them with _Medean_ Fire,” she said, pausing to elaborate: “That which is flung through pumps and burns against the surface of the water.”

The Valach Queen proudly leaned forward, gesturing north and rippling with enthusiasm "Come, Royal Sister. Now is the time for great deeds. I am no stranger to war and have seen cities sacked and annihilated and commanded expeditionary campaigns before. It can be done."

"She speaks truth of the capabilities of the Unsullied, Your Grace." Missandei would murmur. "Yunkai is rich, but known for pleasure slaves and wealth. Meereen is the largest of the Slaver Cities, and rich in copper; however, since the old cedars were felled, and the land turned to dust, there has been naught but slaves on this coast. Even taking the entire coast, Your Grace, there will not be enough food for what the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi proposes." She paused. "However, Your Grace, if you seek to take Slaver's Bay, then the Old Empire is the mantle you seek. It is their glories the notables remember, and are sleeping in the stone and brick."

Daenerys nodded in thanks at Missandei’s counsel and looked back to the Bidalaksha. “Royal Sister, what would you say to the matter of food?”

"The land of the Isle of Cedars is rich and lush and verdant and fertile. We can settle many of the excess freed slaves there to farm to produce food for the rest of the population."

"The Isle is yours, Royal Sister." Daenerys spoke, in a wary tone. "Certainly we could, but... do any of them know how to farm? Would they wish to learn? And you would take them nonetheless?"

The Bidalaskha smiled in bemusement. "Well, Royal sister, they must do something now that they are free. Why should it not be selling you food from a population of smallholders? That seems like a better way to run an island, to me, than harvesting monkeys and flowers with a tiny population of exiles. Those inclined toward city life will in time develop manufacturies here, and the trade will become healthy between my realm and your’s. On the island, my sisters will teach them how to farm, and we have seed crop with us."

"You may take any willing to follow you, Royal Sister.” Daenerys offered, graciously, and quite glad that she could at least somewhat repay the debt she owed thus far. It solved the problem of food, and with that, Daenerys accepted the course of action the Bidalaksha had advocated.

"Thank you, Sister." She settled her hands down. "I admit it does not solve the food problem in the _short term_. We will be spending plunder very fast to keep both the army and the cities in food. But over time, there are crops which will improve the soil, instead of destroying it. I will bring experts from my people here to govern their planting here in Astapor, as well. We brought plenty of seeds from our native lands."

"Just when I think I have a way to repay you, you place me ever deeper in your debt. Ah, you are as the Iron Bank, Sister!” Daenerys shook her head. “I have decided I will follow your advice. We should move quickly. No ships have escaped, and the city was taken quickly enough to where we could race word north before they could ready their defenses. That will leave only Yunkai able to be on the alert."

Missandei would add: "This one also believes it will forestall a rising—even beaten men will fight for freedom when they think it close at hand."

Ser Jorah winced, but he seemed to accept that his course of action had been overruled. "And when they fight, cities burn, and are in the process of being sacked before your army's even through the gates."

Nonetheless, despite initially hesitating, he turned to Daenerys to make a final appeal: "Khaleesi, this is a dangerous course you set before yourself; you will be drawn into intrigues, and you cannot sit upon two thrones. If you do this, it will be years before you can sail for Westeros."

That, at least, visibly left her uncertain. She did see the Iron Throne as her birthright, without question. Slaver's Bay, she had been hoping to set free, thence leave. Not rule as the Bidalaksha said she must.

The Valach Queen tapped the table lightly. "You can give Slaver's Bay to a Viceroy, Royal Sister. I mean a governor empowered to act completely and utterly with all the authority of the sovereign," she elaborated, not knowing how familiar the term was to Westerosi.

"No man would ever be so loyal, Khaleesi." Jorah objected directly to Daenerys. "The power, it would tempt the man, and if not him, others who would remove him and raise a crown himself. A Queen cannot have two thrones... and there are none so loyal when faced with such power, not for long."

Daenerys listened, and faced Jorah square-on. "Not even you, Ser Jorah?" She asked sharply.

Jorah almost recoiled. "...Khaleesi, I am no man made to rule, I am your knight."

The Bidalaksha sighed. “Then give the job to my Lady Merneith until you can find someone to replace her from within the freed slave population, some years down the line. Ser Jorah's words may be true, but the freed slaves will remember the Queen Daenerys as a liberator as long as they live. So I think they, in fact, will be loyal, and until then, my oathsworn sisters of the Order will suffice for the task. When you have offspring of your body, Queen Daenerys, it will be a simple matter to settle permanently: To the eldest, Westeros, to the second, Slaver's Bay."

"That will happen before the last of the men who remember being lifted up out of chains by you die, and so you will be able to find loyal Viceroys for as long as you live, and your second child may take this throne and start a cadet branch to rule from it henceforth."

Daenerys grimaced. _I cannot dare tell her that I am cursed to never have children. And I pray it is not true._ One way or another, the dynasty would have to continue, but Daenerys did not know how; still, two children was not any less plausible than one at the moment. It was a good plan, if she could have any at all. "I will do more than that, Sister." She took a breath, and paused to think of it. "Your Order may accept women of this land, as long as I live, and I hope longer than that. That... is recompense for your service to my cause, I think. Ser Jorah, I will break these chains, and it as a Queen I will return to Westeros to take my birthright!”

That seemed to cow him enough to end that point of the argument, as Missandei looked a hair pleased from behind and beside Daenerys' chair.

“There is much to do to prepare decrees and set this city right, then,” the Bidalaksha observed. “We must set enough of a framework for Merneith, and then move quickly to preparing the expedition.”

“Then let it be done, my Sister.”

\----

After three days of preparation, in which several of the Valach Queen’s sisters drew up a code of law in the Low Valyrian of Astapor and presented it to Daenerys for review and approval, Daenerys was proclaimed Queen of Astapor, though the need for haste to march forth to battle meant that a coronation was not immediately planned nor in the offing.

With the Sisters acting as senior officers, and Unsullied patrolling the streets, it was quite astonishing how crime vanished. Even at night, there seemed to be no disturbances. With the short-term situation stabilising, Daenerys convened another meeting to plan on the strategy against Meereen.

The Valach Queen looked pleased. Daenerys realized why, and she had to admit it was effective. It seemed that... It was interesting, but rather than demand things, the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi was simply working to get Daenerys to gift them to her. Bargains wrapped in kindness. And Daenerys, with little education in Royal matters, wasn’t sure if that was a gesture of respect, or of a very intelligent covetousness. Perhaps both could coexist.

Midway, give or take, into how long the meeting would likely run into the evening, the Valach Queen was speaking.

"We need to promote good men to office. We will need military commanders, civil governors, masters of the public water supply, other positions... These will be hard to fill, presently. I have sent for my transport ships and the arms and goods they carry and soon we will have half the order ready to take over some of these positions for want of anyone else. I know this asks you to trust my people in the governance of Astapor, but as Ser Jorah may admit, if you wish to truly govern the city, there is little other loyal option. Of your old retainers, I encourage you to put them in command of detachments at arms."

"That is acceptable, Royal Sister... if you wanted to betray me, we slept in the same room,” she noted flatly, for that had been the case on the journey here. “It would not be difficult. I trust your people to be loyal to yourself." She gave a small smile in turn. "The culture of this place must change, though not to mine own... as for the Unsullied, I will let them elect their own officers. The freedmen need their own leadership, not the Unsullied. Ser Jorah, you wished to be a knight? Take squires, and lead the others."

“... I will see if any are able, Khaleesi,” he hesitated.

The Bidalaksha shrugged. "Some will be. Some always are. However, we also need regular officers for each group of four thousand, call them legio. Those are the best-sized tactical units for the style of fighting of the Unsullied and other pike and spear. Perhaps some of the Unsullied have managed to acquire the skills necessary for this role, but it may have been difficult for them, it requires operating at a higher level, mentally, than a regular soldier. We should still ask them if they think any of them worthy of the job, and only consider outsiders if not. Placing trust in soldiers of that sort is a good thing, you can only be rewarded for it, so in the main I support the proposal."

"The dothraki do not fight afoot, and I do not have a great many others, Sister. They will have to choose their own. So it shall be done." Daenerys breathed in, the air still with hints of smoke, though perhaps now it was with cookfires. This entire affair brought up her next concern. "I have no council, Sister. No great loyals or officers. Only Ser Jorah, those sent by the Magister, my bloodriders and khal, and now Missandei."

The Bidalaksha raised a cup that one of her Valach servants filled, perhaps with wine, and smiled with a mock sort of demureness. “There is a man among your ranks who has been giving us very good council, Queen Daenerys," she looked out in particular to the older squire of Strong Belwas, and Daenerys followed her gaze to look at Arstan Whitebeard.

Daenerys watched as the old man started at the attention, and Ser Jorah quickly raised his voice. "He is too outspoken for a squire, yes... I have warned you, Khaleesi."

"He has spoken no untruths to me, Ser Jorah,” Daenerys answered. _None that I know._ She wondered if the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi sometimes felt paranoid like that.

"Let him speak and tell of us if he wishes a position where his fine counsel will matter to the Affairs of State,” the Bidalaksha suggested gamely. "Let us not worry about other things. He had plenty of opportunities even in the short time I have sojourned with you to be treacherous, and has not done so."

The man looked very uncomfortable indeed to be drawn up before the council. "Your Grace,” he began, and then paused as Daenerys looked to him.

"Please, tell us, Whitebeard... you know a great deal of Westeros. Do you wish a position upon my council, where your advice will be given the weight is deserves, for it has been wise thus far."

"Your Grace, I cannot accept such a thing. Not as matters currently stand." he said calmly, and his words caused Daenerys to look at him curiously.

"Is there something unsaid that you must speak before accepting such a thing? You are bold-tongued indeed for a squire. Would it be acceptable for you to finally be knighted and sit upon this council?"

Daenerys promptly found cause to blink involuntarily when Ser Jorah and Whitebeard both said "no" at once.

Finally, Arstan had no choice, as the two Queens looked on in confusion and silence, than to begin to speak the truth. "Your Grace, I have not lied. I have, however... withheld truths."

Ser Jorah leapt to his feet with his hand on his sword, the picture of the man and his words finally clearly fixed in his mind. "Ser Barristan! Your Grace, this man has betrayed your family to serve the Usurper!"

"A knightly man in disguise, then," the Valach Queen remarked in great interest. "I am not surprised. I could see from his bearing and the decisive way he spoke that he was a commander of men, like a long service Roman Centurion of the Empire across my homeland. You make a serious charge against him, Ser Jorah. It is a charge he has every right to defend himself against."

“I will handle it, Royal Sister. Thank you.” She looked sharply to the man whom she now had a true name for. “Are you mine, or the Usurper's, Ser Barristan...?" Dany asked.

The white-bearded man replied; "Your Grace, I am yours, if you will have me, in any capacity, even as a cook. If you refuse, I shall remain in service to Belwas. I took Robert's pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King's Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it was as though he'd ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service. I had not been expecting a Queen, Your Grace... but I had to hide myself. There is a spy amongst your counsels, who sent word to King's Landing of your activities and doings..."

"Fetch me some more wine," the Valach Queen ordered one of the local Astapori serving girls who were now being paid like they would be back in Westeros, if humbly. It was slightly incongruous to the moment, as she watched the scene intently and listened to Ser Barristan's words. The Valach Queen was always so damned calm, and when she wasn't, she was bemused. 

Despite the humour in that, it did nothing to extinguish Daenerys’ blazing fury. "How long, Ser Barristan?" Dany's violet eyes were snapping with fury, and her voice was molten and barely restrained.

"Since your marriage to Khal Drogo, Your Grace."

Those words from Barristan were all she needed, and thence her eyes snapped to Jorah, who paled.

Then he dropped to his knees. "It is true, your Grace, I had been promised I could go home for this, b-" "GET OUT! BOTH OF YOU!" The girl's temper boiled over at one traitor and another betrayal, and when Jorah tried to speak once again, with a voice of hot iron, she lashed out; "If you speak one more time, Ser Jorah, I will have Strong Belwas twist your neck. Now get out."

At that, the two made to back out and leave, with a trembling dragon-queen standing at the table, fists upon it, trembling with rage.

"Daenerys!” The Valach Queen interjected over her glass of wine, still sitting.

The girl's eyes snapped over to the other woman--thankfully, with her standing and the other sitting, she didn't have to look up for once, and that equality calmed her a little.

"Give them a chance to be forgiven and maintain your service, or execute them,” the Bidalaksha counseled. “There is no middle ground. There cannot be when we are already so weak."

Her arms trembled, and her teeth audibly ground. "Stay. Ser Jorah. Whence was the last report you sent upon me to the Usurper?"

"Khaleesi, I received a pardon after Qarth,” he answered. “I chose to remain, and became your man fully henceforth." The girl's eyes narrowed. "Ser Jorah. It was you responsible for the attempt upon my unborn child, was it not?"

"Yes, Khaleesi, but I also foiled that attempt...! I have loved and served you, defended you, foiled plots against you."

She frowned, darkly. "Ser Jorah. You will hear my judgement at sunset. Depart from here and speak to none of this, and return this afternoon...” She watched Ser Jorah go, trying to keep her cool. When he had departed, she turned her attention to Ser Barristan.

Then, she asked questions, probing ones, about her father, her family, and the man's service, and he answered them all--not shading the truth, especially of her father's madness. It went on for much longer, for two hours, at least, while the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi listened, and quietly drank, and said nothing.

When the questioning was done, she dismissed Ser Barristan the same, and looked to her Royal Sister. "I am retiring for a while, Sister. I will need to think on this."

"I will give you all the time you need, and remain out in the city today so that you may be alone," she answered, and rose, herself. “If you take longer than you planned to make your decision, I will inform the men thusly.”

She gave a small, thankful smile for that.


	5. Oaths and Thrones

The city of Astapor remained calm under the force of Unsullied on every street, and the mysterious presence of the Sisters, cowled, hooded and shrouded, armed and armoured, commanding from afoot. Neither group was remotely interested in plunder or disorder; they had rapidly ended any attempts at continued looting or violence. Resistance was negligible. The Unsullied had killed every adult nobleman and rich merchant, every slave-keeper and overseer, and left only the common folk, women and children, and the slaves.

Things were, accordingly, still tense, for there were many with a state of fear and anger in their hearts, as they came over their shock at what had happened. In a single day, all of society had been turned upside-down, and the living might well envy the dead. Nonetheless, the Unsullied were keeping order, and that was all that really mattered to make the city safe and serene, but also as quiet as a tomb.

The Valach Queen had returned for the occasion of the audience that evening, looking again refreshed and content and quite vibrant for the moment. She still maintained a sombre bearing in the hall, though she sat in the presence of the Queen as was her right.

Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan had approached side by side, unarmed and with Unsullied Guards assembled on either side of them. Both stood to receive their judgement, after bowing, as they must in the presence of a Queen.

Daenerys had a single question for the two men, and she asked each one in turn. “Ser Barristan, are you willing to swear an oath to me, As Queen, and a second, to serve as a member of my Queensguard, henceforth, according to the customary oath as written by Visenya Targaryen?” Missandei stood at her right as Daenerys sat, imperious and composed.

Ser Barristan bowed deeply, and his voice almost shook. “Yes, Your Grace, I shall swear to you my Queen, my life, my loyalty and all earthly worship, for as long as I live, and speak to you now the vow of your Queensguard.”

“Speak it now,” Daenerys agreed, and Ser Barristan swore the words, to defend the Queen from harm or threat, to obey her commands, to keep her secrets, to counsel her when requested and otherwise to remain silent at her acts, to serve the Queen’s pleasure, to defend her name and honour, and to protect her family if ordered.

Then she looked to Jorah. “Will you swear personal loyalty to me as your Queen, and make the oath of a Queensguard?”

“I am, Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah answered, bowing deeply and looking almost to weep as he repeated the oaths which Ser Barristan had given. In that moment, he made the commitment which to Ser Barristan was old and familiar, and when he did, there were now two Whitecloaks, in oath if not dress, standing before Queen Daenerys.

Daenerys thought the moment done, but from Ser Barristan she saw a hesitation, but also a growing confidence to speak to her. It left her in as odd position as Ser Barristan said "I have borne no sword since I threw mine at the vile boy-king's feet, and I will accept none but from your hand, Your Grace."

Daenerys was silent for a moment, embarrassed by the fact that she had no swords to lend, and hiding it as she thought about what to do.

Then the Valach Queen rose and stepped to Daenerys' side, unbuckling the sword from her own belt and presenting it to the young Queen. "Royal Sister, I offer you this blade as a gift, that you give it to Ser Barristan as a high honour if you choose to do so, for rarely do we let the hands of men possess our blades. In exchange I ask only that I be granted your leave to wear the blade of one of the highest families of the realms of the Seven Kingdoms that I lately obtained.”

Her eyes widened as she took the blade from the woman's hands, and her eyes clouded for a moment, for that meant she was giving the Valach Queen permission to openly bear Brightroar. Ser Jorah’s eyes also widened, and those of Ser Barristan flickered imperceptibly. "...Of course, my Royal Sister. Let us have no fear of the complaints of the house of the treacherous Lion, we will treat them only as traitors. Bear their blade," she finally murmured, and took the sword from the Valach Queen, to stand at her side and present Barristan with the blade, who knelt to receive it, a sturdy and heavy cavalry Spatha, not a proper sword to a Westerosi Knight, but more than servicable enough for Ser Barristan’s style of fighting.

With the two of them to her service, Daenerys next formally appointed Ser Barristan as the Lord Commander of her Queensguard, offering them good wishes.... and noting that Ser Jorah accepted it, if reluctantly; even with his desire to serve the Khaleesi, he could not stand against the idea of the Lord Commander for so many years, a legendary knight of the realms, being worthy of the position.

Only then did she retire to dinner, wherein at least one large chalice of wine was about to be demolished. Daenerys had calmed herself and accepted the wisdom of their oaths and new commitment to faithfulness at her side if she ever wished to regain Westeros, but there was still anger boiling in her that she had just forgiven both of the men.

The Valach Queen followed her to dinner, and drank with her. Understanding her frustration, it seemed, she did not attempt to talk with Daenerys about Astapor or Queenly things until Daenerys had some time to relax, and even then, she didn’t bring up Astapor. 

Daenerys herself gestured to the Valach Queen when they were done eating at table. “Come, Royal Sister, I would speak with you.”

“Of course.” Together they went back to her private apartments, away from even her new Queensguard.

Daenerys settled down and sighed. "Ser Jorah, he loves me, you know. It is for that, he is loyal, Jorah is. I did not wish to kill him... but nor do I wish to bed him. I hope being close is enough for him, or else I will have to have his neck twisted if he cannot keep his vows.”

The Valach Queen frowned. "I know the type. But he may still serve you well, and if not, I will keep you safe against Ser Jorah. It is good that things have come to this. I think this is the one real contribution to your cause I have made so far. Everything else to date you could have accomplished without me, Daenerys, but now, at least, we have solved the problem of your loyalists, and given you a good Lord Commander of your guard to advise you."

"I would have sent him away." Daenerys mused darkly, admitting to herself but finding no need to say outloud that the Bidalaksha was right. "Four Kings. Maybe less now..." She sighed. "... I wish I could have one like you on my Queensguard, but Westeros would never accept a woman in a white cloak."

"Surely not even one of the Sisters? I would not be unamenable to this.”

“It is a sworn, celibate brotherhood." Daenerys looked a bit morose at that. “Own no lands, sire no children, have no wife, or hold any loyalty but to their king - or queen. Anointed knights, though Ser Barristan has said that three hundred years of tradition means nothing to the boy-usurper on the throne now, and he has put the murderer of my cousins into it... and raised the Kingslayer to the Lord Commander of the order." She shook her head, and took another deep draught of wine. "And women cannot be knights."

"So, no,” Daenerys continued, “Westeros would not accept one. I would have to create something new for that... the more I hear from Ser Barristan of Westeros, the more I hate all it represents."

Daenerys drank half the cup then, unable to step back from those events. "So one of the Kingsguard dragged my father off his throne and cut his throat. Now that same man leads it. Another smashed my cousin to pulp, murdered the other, and raped my brother's wife before killing her. And they called their new king a savior?!"

"Those are the ways of all men, not merely the men of Westeros." The Bidalaksha looked down into her wine and then straightened up, her words sharp and cold. "That is the fact of the universe."

"And I will have to marry one." She winced, for it reminded her of her prophesied barrenness, and that thought she could not escape. "And _somehow_ bear a son to make vassals happy. It makes me envy you. You have lost so much, but yet you are more free than I ever will be."

"Why do you say that, Royal Sister?"

"You are raising a realm. Not seeking to take one, with all the mess, and alliances and men who expect of you. You are making a realm in the image you deem fit." Far into her cups, Daenerys looked a little openly envious, and vaguely realised that she was, but didn’t care. If she couldn’t trust the Bidalaksha... _Do I trust someone whose name I do not even know?_

"I still have the problem of recognition. Everyone acknowledges you a princess. People will laugh at my claims of far-off titles and treat my revived Velos as a minor thing. It will be very difficult."

"Some acknowledge me as a Princess. Others will not... as for you, I... I am trying to aid you. Missandei..." She glanced over at the girl, who was bringing a fresh carafe of wine and who was the only one with them. "After this, you know slaves in the rest of Essos will whisper of this, and hope I will come with my dragons to break their shackles. It is dizzying--and terrifying."

“Well then, Daenerys, you must make me Queen, by dint of being of the blood of Valyria."

"I cannot rule simply by virtue of being a foregin exile."

“That would require conquering a great deal more of the world..." She sounded bemused, a fair bit in her cups by this point. "There are others of the blood of Valyria. I am just the last of the last noble house of that land..." She sighed. "Queen of Velos? If I can not even make myself a Queen, how do I make you one?"

"That is of course simple. Slaver's Bay is not a Kingdom; it is the Ghiscari Empire."

"Am I a harpy or am I a dragon, Sister?" Daenerys asked sharply.

"If you do not wish that hoary old title, then let us both claim Queenship on account of having divided an Empire between us, and you will take the landward colonies whilst I shall take New Ghis."

Daenerys brooded on that. _Empress._ She remembered the title only dimly, so rare was it in the west of Essos and Westeros. Indeed, west of Ghis it had only been used once, and that ill-fated exercise was a moment of much legend. "Is the Queen on the Iron Throne an Empress despite the name by bringing Seven Kingdoms to heel? If so, I will not have your plan for heirs to be equal broken by this."

"I would say she is, if you are to permit to the North and the Dornish their Royal titles while being subservient to the Empire. It marks a good break with what needs to go in the past, anyway. Do you want to be Empress of Westeros? If you win, Daenerys, you could be. No need to declare either one now. It is sufficient for us to both be Queens as having equally divied Old Ghis betwixt each other, I would argue."

"Queen of Ghis and Queen of Skahazadban we would be then—name your realm after the river which bounds Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor seems a lawful enough name for the place when united, far better than Slaver's Bay. But to avoid the indication I am the superiour, I will take the name Queen of Lebanon, which means the land of Cedars in my old tongue—so I will be the Queen of the Cedars."

Daenerys thought about it. _Skahazadban._ The word was foreign to her tongue, but these people were not foreign to her heart, and she could already think of them crying out for freedom in Yunkai and Meereen. “It is acceptable." She replied, after a very long time, picking up the wine cup and looking down into it with hooded eyes. "Queen of Mereen, Yunkai, and Astapor. They have their own crowns, Missandei says, even if they are no longer worn. New Ghis has a crowned King. Queen of New Ghis and Queen of Velos, you would be.”

"And every slave Freed,” the Bidalaskha avowed. “The deal is struck. Eternal Alliance and no Peace until our claims are rightfully acknowledged, both here and in Westeros. I shall give you nineteen ships, twelve hundred foot, and thirty-six engines of war for the conquest of Westeros and I shall provide beside seven ephebes-made-sisters of the Hidden Order to pretend to be your servants and attendants and spies but to in fact be... A shadow of your Queensguard."

Daenerys lips pursed, and she thought about the offer which, though a kindness, would bind her closer to the Bidalaskha. "I... wonder if it necessary,” she demurred. “The Queensguard appointments would be political, in large part. Barristan is loyal, and renowned. Jorah is... better there than anywhere else. There will need to be other noble sons in Westeros to satisfy people in the composition of my Queensguard, but I grant that Aegon created the Kingsguard from whole cloth on his landing." She wobbled a hint, pouring herself more wine. "Why do I have to leave everything the same? Fear of error?" It was almost a rhetorical question to herself.

“I see no reason that you do. You will have to defeat so many of them that you will be able to change much." The Bidalaksha smiled. "I suppose there is another matter: I will take a regnal name that you may call me by, Royal Sister. What do you wish it to be?"

Daenerys fell back in her chair in drunken surprise. "I... name you, Royal Sister? I... and here you tell me you feel maternal, yet you want me to... Name your reign? We don’t have such a custom here."

"I must be gifted an appropriate name for ruling a colony of old Valyria. That is of your knowledge to choose. Besides, it is not my true name, and I am not even letting anyone know that, as I have not for a very long time. But the Roman custom was for Emperors to often take a different name on assumption of the Imperial throne, and so it will be for me, so you are not left so awkward with me, Daenerys.”

“Valyrians do not look like you, generally,” Daenerys answered, frowning.

“But not _all_ of them look as you do, Daenerys. Let them wonder about from whence I came,” The Bidalaskha shrugged. "They will wonder more after tomorrow.”

"Queen Rhaenys, First of Her Name." Daenerys gave a small, sad smile, as her eyes glittered. "A storied name, once full of glory, and thence to sadness and blood."

The Bidalaksha smiled, and now called Rhaenys, dipped her head in acknowledgement. "I will crown you tomorrow, with the Crown of Astapor, Daenerys. And for us we shall recreate Velos with the old Crown of Dacia. And I shall give you the sword of the Roman Emperor Heraclius which I lately came into possession of so that you have a sword of your own--and you shall confirm to me the sword you earlier just gave me possession of, which your loyals called Brightroar. And then it shall be truly done."

Daenerys sighed quietly, and nodded in negation, feeling the weight of both the wine and her decisions. "No, Rhaenys, my Royal Sister. It will have truly begun." Another glance to the table. "And I will be quite hung over."

"Traveling through Valyria did not weaken my powers so much that I can't cure a hangover! And besides, being a Queen, a Royal Sister is the only person I can practice such light magic upon."

"A Shadowbinder told me once, that to touch the light, I had to pass beneath the shadow." Daenerys mumbled a bit drunkenly. "I still do not know whether she is a dangerous friend or a true enemy."

"You will pass beneath the Shadow. She is the one I felt, then." In that moment Rhaenys gave Daenerys a hint of just how much power she had, and Daenerys shivered to know that she was already aware of Quaithe.

"She wanted me to go to Asshai... which can be said to be passing beneath the Shadow... it is perhaps the one city in the world that knows the most of spells and sorceries and magic and dragons. Quaithe was her name,” Daenerys explained, and recited her words: “To go north, you must journey south, to reach the west you must go east. To go forward you must go back and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow... she has appeared to me twice now, and I remember my wrist tingled when she touched me, yet I did not think she was present." That was cause for another sigh. "How many betrayals will I know? Will I ever be able to trust fully again? Or is that not for a Queen, Rhaenys?"

"Trust Missandei, that much I can say,” Rhaenys answered, and looked softly over to Daenerys. "As for me? Trust that I want you to be Queen of Two Realms. That is what the Bidalaksha’Virazhoi, whom you now call Rhaenys, wants. And trust women, for I will recreate here the sisterhood as it was meant to be."

"You make me think I have made an error in raising a Queensguard if you are right, and willing to send seven sisters to serve me." Daenerys sighed, bitterly. "Trust women? Surely you jest, though at least such means I will likely be poisoned rather than stabbed if wrong!"

Another swig of the wine, and she coughed. "So many problems, so many swords, so many kings... Westeros is mine, but." She looked to Missandei, and thought of the little girl, her advisor, and all of the others who now looked to her. "Do I have the right to unleash all the horror of a conquest to gain a birthright? I find it a heavy weight of duty, not a right like my brother did."

"Yes. I will say yes, according to my system of morality, yes,” the Bidalaksha smiled pleasantly, confidently. "On one condition. Indeed. There is in fact one condition on my help."

Daenerys frowned. _With my newfound Rhaenys, I am always discovering new things._ They were not always good.

"I had thought however it would come naturally to you, that I would have no need to demand it, that it would be inevitable,” Rhaenys avowed, “And so I will not. But since you doubt the rightness of your conquest, I will explain it to you, because upholding this condition makes your conquest moral."

"Name it... name it." Daenerys blinked. "... I... yes, name it." She finally let the cup down with a 'clunk', flushed, though apparently still rational, if a bit wobbly.

"Extend the Dornish inheiritance customs to the whole of the Seven Kingdoms and open the Maesters to women and extend the right of women to join the Hidden Order to Westeros as well."

"I would say to make you accept Kaptarian inheiritance customs... But I am not a fool,” Rhaenys answered, though her own look was distant, now. "That would be too much to ram down their throats even after we have slaughtered most of the Houses."

She smiled thinly. “At any rate, though only you and the Sisters know this now, That is the name of my homeland, from before I became Dacian Queen. The Kaptarian Confederacy. There, women inheirited. And by inheirited, I mean they inheirited Everything. Only the Kingship was male, and it passed not from father to sun but from brother of a woman to brother of her daughter. The Merchants and the country Priest-Ladies ruled outright. Indeed, the female priesthood could remove a King by throwing him into the labyrinth of bulls if he challenged their prerogatives."

Daenerys stared at her, wondering for a moment if she was serious, but it seemed no wilder, perhaps rather more practical, than other things she had heard of Essos. "We might have to well slaughter all the houses to get them to agree to that, Rhaenys. I... ...by the Seven." She looked ahead with a guarded look. "I think what you ask is utterly impossible. I do not think I can accept any of it.”

The Bidalaksha did not grow cross. She merely stared off. "Do you understand whence I came from now, my Royal Sister, at least? For I was a priestess of the Mother of Snakes, long ago."

"I have no idea what that means." Her voice had gotten smaller, and she seemed to shrink into her chair; she was strongly feeling her drink at that moment. "I... I would need ten thousand ships full of women at arms to make such a feat happen, Rhaenys. Even the lesser you ask of me. The Maesters would refuse. Hightower would revolt at the attempt. The Lords would never accept such a thing... I would have to break the Seven Kingdoms to make such a thing, and send every man to the Night's Watch and pray they kept their vows, and more likely than not be known as Daenerys the Tyrant at the end of it all... I cannot do this. It is a savage madness." _Is that why you and your sisters and exiles? Are these the only allies I can find?_

"If you swear on the honour of your house to do all that you can, we will sail for Westeros. But I want to see a proper government, which at least promises, like the Romans, law.”

Her face contorted into a grimace, and Daenerys, remembering the stories, settled on what she thought was possible. "I will at least Restore the old House law of the Targaryen on inheritance of the Iron Throne. Anything else... I... would raise such a revolt against me as never seen. But yes, if I must re-fight the Dance of the Dragons, I will do it; I promise you that much, for our alliance.” She wondered what the Bidalaksha thought of her now. _She must think I have drunk a lot of poison,_ one might say from the Valach Queen's point of view.

"Allow my order a home in the Dornish lands where people will find it tolerable. Ban the repatriation of fugitives across the house borders. You will have given me my wish for women to be able to join the order by doing so."

"It... works not as that, Sister,” Daenerys answered, trying to explain to a foreigner what she herself knew only as a foreigner. “A House seeking a fugitive would demand Dorne return such a person or threaten war or retaliation over it. Westeros has... I am told, only the law a threat of a sword can bring do you not think that what you asked me, that I wish I could bring this? The last woman that sought to be Queen was fed to a dragon! And it was another woman who roused the realm against her!"

"I wish there were no houses, as in Rome. I admit, for all I despised them in some ways, I lived among them, and they are very good governors." She smiled thinly, and sighed. "I Will Not make that last request, then. Dorne alone it is, save for the sort of woman whose family has no power or would not care. You can see already how committed I am to your success. I ought by rights tell you to just kill every single House and reorganize Westeros so that your word is absolute law throughout the entire land."

Daenerys face twisted with anger. "The Lannisters slaughtered my family. The Baratheon's tried to kill what was left and took the throne. They will be broken." Her face constricted into a snarl as the anger grew and grew. "I do not ask them to bend the knee, I will break their knees! Tyrell and Martell were loyal. They can stay. The rest will take what I will give them."

"And I will stand with you through it all."

She gave a very grim look. "Some may survive. Some may even be allowed power. But by fire and blood... if I have only daughters, they will accept them or choke." She wobbled. "Fire and blood..." And then Daenerys wondered why the world was spinning so much as she then faceplanted on the table after far more wine than someone that small should have drunk in one sitting. “Fuck.”

Rhaenys pulled her up, laughing gently. “You, my dear Queen, have had too much wine.”

“And you are too perfect, no japes, no stumbles, no drunkenness, sitting there smirking at the world!”

“I have seen much of the world,” the Bidalaksha answered, and insisted on taking Daenerys to bed herself. As promised, she woke up the next day without a hangover.


	6. The Pact

**The Pact**

The evening in Astapor saw the temperature quickly fall off from hot to cold. Ser Barristan stood guard outside of the Queen’s chambers until Jhogo arrived to relieve him, with Jorah waiting when he returned to the quarters which were now those, at least as long as they were in Astapor, of the Whitecloaks. As Lord Commander, Barristan had matter-of-factly recorded his own oath and Jorah’s. With only the two of them for a Queensguard, they were going to have to be creative to keep a watch up and still allow the Queen to have their advice and their swords in main battle. To be realistic, Barristan had decided he had to trust the Queen’s Bloodriders with his honour, or else he would merely create a situation in which all honour failed.

Accordingly, a rotation had been established with the three Bloodriders. This provided Barristan with plenty of manpower to guard the Queen with, and he handed off duties to Jhogo with ready trust. The three bloodriders were as oathsworn as he was, by the standards of their people, and the old Knight had to have faith in that.

“Lord Commander,” Jorah acknowledged Barristan.

“Jorah.” Barristan was slightly embarrassed that Daenerys had assigned a former slave on hired service to support them, but at his age he was thankful that the watered wine was ready when he arrived, and oil lamps flickered to provide light with the smokey smells of the kitchen below masking the worse smells of the city.

“The Queen of the Valach is with Her Grace?”

“She is,” Barristan affirmed. “You are worried about her influence on Her Grace. You have no right to be.” Neither one was a questioning.

Such was the life of a Whitecloak. Jorah stiffened. “Barristan, Her Grace has the right to keep her own counsel, aye. But what of the threat to her? Those ‘sisters’ who follow her have a lean and hungry look, and they are clean and precise. All a bit too perfect. It bothers me and the Dothraki alike. There is something of magic in them, and if the rumours are true, strong magic indeed.”

“I would say Her Grace is better able to handle magic than us,” Barristan answered, offering the carafe of wine to his subordinate, and the only other Westerosi knight with him. He was a bit uncomfortable with Jorah yet; the man’s crimes had been great indeed, but Barristan had to accept that he been pardoned and reprieved by his Queen, and had taken the oath in good faith. Such was the duty he had before the man and anything else would be a disaster. What mattered for a Whitecloak was what they did in the future, not in the past.

“We should at least find out if her _agenda,_ ” Jorah’s teeth grated, “threatens Her Grace.”

“We _should,”_ Barristan agreed, “but it will be a hard matter. I wish to know more of Queen Rhaenys before I try to divine that. Understanding threats means understanding why someone would threaten the Queen, who has made oaths to be her ally. We must understand her motive; if we can discern where it diverges from Her Grace’s, we will know where, and when, a threat exists. The truth is that among those of the rank of Her Grace and Queen Rhaenys, there will always be a threat of diverging interests, and from them, violence. It’s not a business of honour or Godliness, and I prefer to know only enough of it to assess threats to my Sovereign, but that is my duty in this cloak and that’s how I’ll do it now.”

“Understood.” Jorah closed his eyes. “She just...”

“I want to know her mettle before I judge,” Barristan answered simply. “Perhaps we will have the opportunity soon. The ceremony will be tomorrow, after all.”

\----

An immense brassy fanfare overlaid by the haunting notes of conch shells, brass trumpets and shell alike, echoed across the courtyard of what was now the Royal Palace complex of Astapor, its old name expunged from the records by a single spasmodic day of bloodshed and fire, and a single night of creative pulling down of walls. The bricks of the audience hall were now already going up as new apartment blocks for the homeless, under the deft direction and sharp eyes of Sisters of the Hidden World.

In its place, an open air audience hall for the Queens, who set under a canopy on thrones on a low dais at the far end from the entry gates, had replaced it. Under the seasonable weather of Astapor, the arrangement was perfectly reasonable, and so with several hundred Menavlion bearers and several hundred crossbow-women drawn up, their trumpets pealed across the courtyard to announce the commencement of the ceremony.

By the standards of a coronation it was simple, and reflected the influences of the Valach Queen. The court and the people of Astapor would watch, as Rhaenys approached with Daenerys, side by side. The two would face each other for a moment, and Daenerys looked up with her eyes shining. The Valach Queen smiled, masked from the crowd for a moment, and then the two of them turned to face the crowd before them and their assembled troops. With the Valach Queen’s troops, there were also a thousand Unsullied, and all of the remainder of Daenerys’ Khal, beyond tens of thousands of the inhabitants of Astapor. A chosen young boy, a freed slave, brought forward the Crown of Astapor that they had recovered from the city’s treasury, from the brief days it had been a Kingdom during the Age of Blood before the Good Masters had taken power. With a nod, and at the crescendo of the fanfare, Rhaenys put the crown on the head of Daenerys, and spoke to the crowd and her Royal Sister alike:

“I proclaim thee by acclaimation of the people of the city of Astapor, Queen of Astapor and Defender of the Harpy and of Free Soil. Take now the Crown of the City onto your head and rule henceforth knowing that you hold the crown empowered by the same Sacred and Holy Right which declares No Person shall be a slave!" And for such a rather Roman proclaimation, a Roman sword: The hilt was shaped like an eagle's head and plated with electrum and inlaid into the blade was S.P.Q.R, a strange sigil in some strange language, and the blade pattern, though the colour was different, was tantalizing similar to that of Valyrian steel. "Take as the coronation gift of your Royal Sister the Sword of a Fallen Emperor of a far-off land and make it your own until you hold again one of your own house! As you hold it, know that he died with honour, and I saved it from the enemies who destroyed his city, which was also my own place of residence in exile, and thus it passed honourably into my hands. The blade is damascened and will stand many terrible blows, Daenerys Stormborn."

So far she had only sparred with wooden blades against the Valach Queen. Daenerys took the blade, holding it out to be seen as she rose, before buckling it to her waist... and then turned to her fellow Queen in turn, to return the favour. The sword was a great gift, if hardly Valyrian, and hardly something a Westerosi Queen was expected to bear. But it was a fine gift, and now it was her turn to return the gesture.

Rhaenys would kneel on a single knee to receive her crown, her old crown of Dacia, but now worn for reborn Velos and the Isle of the Cedars. It was a gesture of subordination, but also practical in that Daenerys could have never crowned the tall Queen of the Valach without it. There were women in the crowd who looked on with an almost mystical appreciation, who were themselves tall—slaves whose blood was predominantly Sarnori, who in whispered slave-songs and words taught behind the backs of masters, carried some dim memory of what it was to be _Tagaez Fen,_ the Tall Folk, and wondered if this Queen Rhaenys was among their number.

“Sister of foreign lands, Royal Sister, Queen of the Valach, end your exile in the friendship and alliance of your Royal Sister. I, Daenerys—Queen of Astapor, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, the _Unburnt,_ do hereby gift to you part of the old lands of Valyria of my people, and willingly pass to you the Isle of Cedars, and all the lands west and south of the Slavers Bay, whose name shall we forever extipate. To stand with you, as a sister, to fight at your side, and make common cause with you, do I pledge and swear, and give you this crown, to have a land in which the freed slaves of my realms, may be your subjects, farm and till your land, and do it as Freemen and Freeholders. Sister, let forever your Order be in my lands, and let us together defend our realms with Swords in hand, and make an alliance of our families to be honoured before the Gods.”

Another young Page approached. Daenerys would take the sword that Rhaenys had given to her before the ceremony, now brought forward by the Page, and draw it to present it to her. The Valach Queen took Brightroar and held the great two-hander of Valyrian Steel up and out for the crowd, shining in the sun, openly. “This sword I bear by the leave of Queen Daenerys as a gesture of our Royal friendship, and I shall blood it on the Queen’s enemies and traitors to her family! I shall blood it on the slavers of the bay!” The last declaration made the crowd roar.

Daenerys turned to Rhaenys. “I have no doubt, Royal Sister.”

The Valach Queen sheathed the blade, and together their retreated to their thrones, and sat, for the ceremony to complete itself with a presentation of gifts from the people, and receipt of oaths from dignitaries, side by side.

When it was finished, and they rose and the audience was dismissed for them to return to their quarters in the Palace, Daenerys watched as Ser Barristan came up to Rhaenys. “Your Grace,” he said, politely, “You know that the Lannisters will take the wearing of that blade as a declaration of war, and will not stop in trying to end you for it, by battle or assassin or poison?”

"Good. The Lannisters are by all accounts the most calculating of all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it will give them cause for rage that will make them fools. But regardless, Ser Barristan, I have promised that in exchange for Queen Daenerys’ support of Velos, I shall give to the Targaeryns the arms of Velos until such time that Kingslaying and Oathbreaking has been appropriately punished ... Particularly in the Lannister line. If you are concerned about my ability to wield the sword in main battle, Ser Barristan, I ask you to please--do not deny such, but instead, spar with me, so that I may remove the doubt."

Rhaenys’ pale blue eyes turned abruptly to face the man in the courtyard, even as Daenerys’ own eyes widened with surprise. She had not been expecting that!

“Are you willing, Ser?”

"If Your Grace wishes, I would be so willing." He was wearing white now, in the best armour Daenerys had managed to find in the city, holystoned, and with a long cloak to match. "There will be assassins regardless, Your Grace, and you have no need to stand against a man to prove yourself able against them; I merely sought to warn you. The Queen counts in you a friend. She has few enough."

Rhaenys unclaspt her cape and spun it off to one of the Valach handmaidens she was sharing now with Daenerys to augment Daenerys’ own. "Send for my maille and segmenta," she ordered, and a suit of bronze maille, which was fastened at the front--a dangerous disadvantage to maille, usually, though it made it extremely easy to get in and out of in a great hurry, making it as easy for her to put on as a greatcoat. It descended to slightly above her knees, with cuts at the sides for movement of her legs and the drawing of weapons which were secured with synched chains that could be quickly unclapsed. Then segmented plates over the shoulders and upper torso in a single piece were clasp from behind, locking over the maille and protecting the front joint, with its own clasp reachable by a single motion behind.

"My people fought almost exclusively on the sea, like those of your western isles. Thus it is our custom to wear only what we might quickly abandon while swimming.... And what is light enough to swim in for long enough to strip it off. Do not hold back, Ser Barristan. Do your utmost to disarm me and don't worry about a few cuts or bruises."

"The former western isles--the Ironborn have risen in revolt, still, and easily hold their independence against the unworthy monster claiming Her Grace’s throne." He slipped the cloak off and folded it, before drawing his own blade--the former one of hers--and offering a salute. "I in turn would wish you take care not to remove my hand with such a blade as Brightroar, Your Grace." He was a courtly sort, and Daenerys could easily tell that Barristan was uneasy fighting a woman... but when he went into motion, though he was old, he was still supple in his strength. By the gods was he a knight, and a damned good one, even at his age. One of the best in Westeros, and possibly the best. He was not cautious of the Valach Queen’s protection; he had already learned from observation that when they wore bronze, by some skill it was the equal of steel.

Daenerys and all present could not see the slightest hint of something dishonourable, like Queen Rhaenys using magic to help herself, as some who called her a sorceress might have expected. But on the other hand she seemed to have a preternatural strength and power to her movements, at the limits of the normal and human physical. She had clearly seen so many battles with countless weapons and styles from the way she moved into the defence against a Westerosi man who was a consummate Knight, for the first time. Her skirt spun like it was art, like she were dancing, as she met and parried each blow of Ser Barristan's with incredible precision. She was rigidly controlled--that was the most obvious thing about her fighting style--and more to the point, it was quite unusual, she would often hold her sword fixed relative to her body, and begin its motion with a swing of her hips--a woman's hips, filled with muscles for childbirth--and then translate that momentum into the sword, bracing the blade for more force against her own lower body, and prefering to fight at close quarters.

Daenerys saw Ser Barristan, being quite intelligent and observant in battle... Hanging back and getting the measure of her style and abilities with a cautious respect that showed he had already recognised that this duel would not be a farce. She was holding her own clearly against the older man.

And it was quickly becoming one hell of a show for the court, the Dothraki crowding in and even Jorah and Belwas watching intently, as well as a knot of Unsullied. Missandei’s wide eyes took it all in, and Daenerys’ handmaids debated and cheered on the Man, who even in his old age had a measure of handsomeness, against the Sorceress.

Now, their measure made, they came at each other so strongly that with sparks off the blades as they clashed they met blow for blow—Ser Barristan had, yes, clearly been holding back at first, but as he got more into it... he, in turn, demonstrated the skill of a man who had fought in both war and tourney for countless years. He was sixty two, bearded, experienced, and no young man to be quickly defeated by a foreign woman, even one who wielded the legendary Brightroar. The duel soon settled into a sort of rythm, that two people with lives of experience would settle into--both still learning their weapons, too, which made it truly fair, Barristan making a truly brilliant showing with a Spatha against Brightroar in the Valach Queen’s hands.

The result would take far longer than anyone would have expected. Neither of them quickly overmatched or overpowered the other, and it became a fight of feints, sharp bursts of activity, pauses to rest, regroup and look for openings. Lunch was delayed. Daenerys leaned against a column, thankful the setting was private. She had never seen anything like it before. The mocking and talk of sorcery behind the Valach Queen’s back had faded away from her bloodriders as they could see skill before their eyes.

The shared respect and skill actually resulted in a very measured pace until the very end, and Daenerys thought it as much a match of cyvasse as a duel. The end that would come happened only when Ser Barristan was utterly exhausted and pushed to the limit of his endurance. He had much skill on his side, and the two-handed sword might have more reach than the Valach Queen’s own sword that he now bore, but it prevented her from having a shield and she sometimes seemed hesitant with the style. Finally, one of his efforts to come up against the blade from below and lever against the guard worked, and so it was that he would finally catch the blade from her and send it clattering to the ground.

That was that. Rhaenys threw her hands to her sides and stepped back at once to avoid injury. Ser Barristan was left having won, albeit that Daenerys could see the appraisal of the slow look of respect crossing his face. "...By the Seven, Your Grace..." He was exhausted, and visibly so after going that long, drenched in sweat and fatigued. "You may ride at my side any time you wish, Your Grace, and stand beside in the line." He sheathed his sword, and offered her a hand with a searchingly satisfied look. "You stand as skilled as any man I have ever had the honor to fight with."

The Valach Queen took his hand willingly. "And for you, Ser Barristan, I will say simply that you deserve every compliment your sterling reputation gives you in feats of arms. When it comes time for us to go to Westeros, we will stand together and we will make Treason flee in vain." 

Jorah, in white, was looking at Barristan and Queen Rhaenys a bit uncomfortably, though he would offer applause, and a small bow. "Ser Barristan has much the truth of it, Your Grace. You would be more than a match for I, I admit it uncomfortably. Her Grace has taken much of your counsel, and seeks to implement... she spoke this morning of her gratitude that on this side of the sea, at least, she should take your counsel freely for a righteous result."

"Ser Jorah, my thanks. Let me assure you that what we seek here, is what is certain to bring us success. For what will the Gods honour more than having brought to the people to freedom ? I would say that even the lowest, meanest, dumbest deserve the fruit of their own labours. Having brought this to slaver's bay I sincerely believe that when we cross the water we will come with an army uniquely motivated and any favour that fortune will give. It may be enough to give us victory, but no taint will stand with us." 

Jorah held himself rigid, sharply reminded, Daenerys realized, by Rhaenys’ words, of his own crime and how contrary to her current intents it ran. "I have a long road to travel before mine own is cleansed, this I know. Her Grace has given me a chance only the greatest would..." Daenerys saw Barristan glance sharply at his new subordinate.

Rhaenys smiled lightly, and dropped down to retrieve the sword and sheath it. "Come. Let us take lunch. Then, Royal Sister, we may travel among the people of Astapor and let them join us in the celebrations of this day. It is a declaration of war to our enemies on the Bay, but our ships will outrace it to Meereen. And for today, we should not think of anything but honour and pride and the loveliness of the honesty that surrounds us. There is nothing quite like a city of freed slaves to make you think there might actually be some good in the world..." 

"There is nothing so terrifying as a truly just man." Jorah would offer, as they went on, with Daenerys’ bloodriders closing up, to take lunch.

It would certainly be a day of revelry, and for the people of Astapor, the promise of stability under the woman who had liberated them from slavery. They were served the light midday meal while serenaded with musicians. At the same time, the women of Rhaenys' ships had in fact added something new.

Flying, snapping in the breeze over the city's ruling palace when they came out from lunch was a standard, a full swallow-tailed flag of black with the red dragon of the Targaryen standard... And a canton of a square of white with the Ghis harpy inset. Alongside it--the swallow-tailed flag of the Valach Queen, red banner with inset cat's eye gem, and the canton with Harpy repeated. "So we acknowledge what we rule without disclaiming our true names," she would remark proudly. "Until you go to Westeros I hope it is a banner honourable enough to conquer under for my Royal Sister." 

"Oh, they will know it is I, for there is no other..." Daenerys smiled, thinly. "The Graces were uneasily content whence we swore to defend their faith, if not the slavery they are accustomed to. It will have to do until new generations can be raised to respect the Harpy under arms, and not grasping chains.”

For, of course, there was one difference from the modern form of the Harpy used in Astapor. This one was holding a thunderbolt instead of manacle: The traditional symbol of the Ghiscari Empire.

Lady Admiral Azakokht had joined them for lunch, and presented the banners with a curtsy. "No longer a craven thing, the Harpy of Ghis, Your Grace,” she addressed Daenerys. “She will learn how to fight once again.”

Daenerys grinned, and turned to Rhaenys. “She has a way with words. Here, at least, Sister, I think we can indulge in your desires on succession... for the nobility, at least. I have killed all the adult men with any wealth at all in the city, after all."

"We will be repeating that several times,” Rhaenys answered with a thin smile. “I will present a translation of the Laws of Kaptaria to you, then." 

She gave a small smile at that. "Laws of common origin will keep our realms here friendly, I do hope... and if you can explain the why, I can rule according to them." _I will not simply accept her suggestions._

Nonetheless, she extended her hand to Rhaenys. While Daenerys’ hand was delicate, the Valach Queen’s own hands were mostly soft and supple as a lady's should be--but there was a slight feeling of callous where one would grip a sword. And also a hint of some soothing oil of a far off land, which presumably served to hold the sweat from her hands, for there was none. “Let my reason be as exercised as the rest of me, Sister.”

“Enduring constitutions are an interest of my people,” Rhaenys answered. “Let us celebrate today. It is not an urgency. I will tell you the story of Kaptaria, before we set out for Meereen, my Royal Sister.”

“Well, then.” Daenerys laughed, and took the lead. She loved being out among the smallfolk, and they loved her. The stately Valach Queen followed long at the head of her train, but would never compete for this affection. She was too reserved, too imposing. Daenerys, among the smallfolk, the freedmen of Astapor, was as a mother among her children. They surged and surrounded her, and she asked their names, and the names of their children, and they loved her.

The Valach Queen had a servant carrying a parasol over her for the day, but Daenerys nearly ran in the sun with her people. It was a great festival, with food being distributed and music and celebration in the streets, and the _Taurakathapi_ and Unsullied minding order.

“This One thinks that Your Grace is a sword,” Daenerys dimly heard Missandei say to the Valach Queen.

“You would not be wrong,” Rhaenys answered in almost pleasant indulgence. “You would not be wrong.”

Missandei looked like she filed something quietly away in her mind.

Daenerys laughed, and turned back to her people. Where there were chains to be broken, and there were many chains to be broken, she could use the help of a sword. _Where are you truly from, what was your motherland and what have you seen, Rhaenys-of-Velos? What makes a woman become a sword? And do you forget that you are also like a Mother?_ Daenerys could see tenderness in her, but she wondered if the Valach Queen could see it in herself.

Rhaenys was smiling to Missandei, and talking about something else, now, with the girl soaking it up like a sponge. Daenerys was twirled ahead on the crowd, with her Bloodriders and Whitecloaks barely keeping up, and it not mattering today, on a day, maybe the first day ever, when it seemed everything was right in Astapor.

Moments like that always faded much too quickly.


	7. The Dark Queen's Story

With the conquest of a city came the need for Council Meetings on a daily basis. Daenerys tried to mix them with her audiences, in which she listened to the people of Astapor and tried to solve their problems in audience, herself. She found herself already adoring to learn about the needs of the people and help them, and liked to think of her audiences more airily than Rhaenys of Velos, who referred to them as Daenerys ‘dispensing justice’, a term which seemed to have a reserved grandeur not quite appropriate for dealing with the sometimes very sad, and sometimes funny, needs of the common-folk and freedmen.

Still, the meetings were necessary. Joining them for the first time was the new commander of the Unsullied, Grey Worm. He had insisted on keeping the name he had on the day he had been freed, and he had been selected by the Unsullied as the one among their number most likely to serve competently as a high officer.

He pointed out something of the obvious. “We will need someone to administer the city while you lead the Army, Your Grace,” Grey Worm addressed after the Valach Queen had finished summarising the plans for the logistical support of the Army and the transport aboard ship, and dealt with the Dothraki objections to another ride aboard ship, for the need to keep Yunkai from intervening as they marched around the middle city.

“We will need a Royal Governor,” Daenerys nodded in agreement. “Sister,” she addressed Rhaenys, “Did you not allude to someone competent?”

“Azakokht could do the job,” she gestured to the Sister of the Hidden Order. “However, we need her for the fleet, so I will send you my finest: Merneith. She would normally be holding Velos, but I trust a Directory of five of the other competent sisters to do this, led by Lady Eight Skulls. Lady Merneith has her own customs and traditions which can seem odd, but I think they will be very effective in Ghiscari lands. Indeed, like the Ghiscari her people held to the sacredness of Pyramids as places of power.”

“This city is my responsibility,” Daenerys began to answer.

“Your Grace,” Jorah offered, “Perhaps instead _you_ should remain, and allow Queen Rhaenys to lead the Army?”

Daenerys looked to Jorah. She understood why—he was concerned about her safety, and she was not a warrior herself, whereas she was more and more convinced that Rhaenys was a skilled General who could definitely plan the expedition properly. But she also knew that her own instincts were reasonable, the better to be tempered by the wise advice of those around her, and that the slaves of cities of the Bay might rise at her approach. And that was worth much more than the risk to her person.

“The slaves will rise, Ser Jorah, at the approach of dragons, and moreover, that is the only way I can secure their loyalty. I will share the danger of the Army,” Daenerys decided, firmly, and looked to Rhaenys. “However, as I said, the city is my responsibility, Royal Sister. I must evaluate Lady Merneith for her ability to hold it in my Stead.”

“I understand,” Rhaenys seemed a hair bemused, which brought a flash of irritation to Daenerys, but it fled, because Rhaenys always seemed bemused. “I will arrange her audience with you tomorrow... Though we do not have much time left, if we are to steal the march on the Meereenese, even with my Dromon seizing all the trading ships which come to do business in slaves.”

“I know it is so. Continue the preparations as if I had already approved her, but I still must speak to her first.”

\---------

Rhaenys had taken to personally organising the storehouses, sparing no effort. The merchant galleys arrived soon after with supplies for her to place into the city—horse transports built out from Dromon hulls, they were still fast, but reasonably able to carry cargo, with cut down fighting castles for better stability. Merneith the Egyptian arrived with them.

The woman arrived for her audience shaded by a parasol, and carrying a fly-whisk, with a headscarf in her hair, but dressed comfortably in a billowing burnous and long desert robes, with a sword belted to her side. She was dark of skin and curled in her hair, somewhat more red than brown in the tint of her skin, not quite like the Ghiscari around her, but close enough that she could be easily mistaken for one of them.

Daenerys had sent Ser Barristan out to meet her, with a small guard of Unsullied. She did very much want to speak with Merneith before turning the whole thing over to her, now that she had grown committed to Astapor. A click of his heels with a low bow. "Lady Merneith. Her Grace requests your presence."

"Thank you. I attend to Her Grace," she answered, looking up to the pyramids, and making a short bow. "Please lead on. I confess to being quite surprised when I received the summons from the Bida--The Queen Rhaenys--" she was still getting used to that change of her mistress’ after a long time, clearly, "to govern a city of pyramids on this scale. It has been a long time. You have not had trouble since the slavers were overthrown?" 

"Some, Your Ladyship." He turned, to fall in beside her. "Minor things thus far. Order is being kept, but the situation is unsettled. Many women lost husbands and sons, many lowborn found themselves possessing that which they never dreamed. The tremors continue to ripple through the city from that. Her Grace's taking of some of the hungry mouths will be a blessing--this city is as hungry as King's Landing, and with even less said for it, less land from whence to provide food."

"I don't know of King's Landing. But it's an affront to a Sovereign's duties not to provide grain to the people when they are in need of it," she answered. "My Sovereign sometimes teases me because I still believe so strongly in the Gods of my homeland. But in my homeland in the old days, the Pharaoh, the King, was a Man and a God too, and therefore sincerely had this duty. I think it belongs to the sovereign even if they are mortal. As Nomarch, governor of the city, I will feed the people first and foremost. The rest will follow from that. I would not dishonour the friend of my Lady by leaving her people hungry. There will be ways. The walls are in terrible shape, but forcing their repair by hungry people will only make them more hungry, so I must rely on obfuscation about the number of Unsullied left in the city if we are attacked by Yunkai in your absence, as I must set the people to growing food and supplying water, not to the defences."

"Such is so, Your Ladyship--but men will also work for food and coin, if it can be provided.” Ser Barristan admitted her great difference from all the peoples of Essos, even her mannerism was sharp but subdued, and wanted to see how appraised of the realities of the situation she was; it would be hard to grow food in Astapor’s red hills. “Still, my Queen trusts Her Grace, and through her, you, to be her Hand of the Queen in Astapor, to speak with her voice from her throne in her absence."

"I understand. The Sisterhood has crops that will grow here, some will provide food quickly, even. This city is full of sundered chains," she mused. "Must be tens of leagues of them, do you not think? I already know a way--it is known to me from the customs of the lands I have traveled through. We'll rig the river with a great fishing weir, anchored with all the chains of the city. And it will be an opportunity to teach the freedmen many useful ways of work. Beyond that, I must receive Her Grace's instructions in the main."

"Of course, Your Ladyship." He gave her a small smile, leading to the great pyramid of Astapor, that tremendously tall edifice, which the Dragon-Queen still held court within, though not for much longer. They would depart soon, unless something went wrong with this meeting. Up, up the stairs, and into that throne room, where most of the courtiers had been dismissed, leaving Ser Jorah beside the throne in his white cloak, Missandei beside the throne as her herald--a very good one, all said!--and a few Unsullied. All that, and her three dragons perched around her, with her dragon crown upon her brow. The dragons needed no introduction, and their presence meant no finery was truly required.

Merneith had grown quiet and adopted a silently reverential state as she ascended the pyramid, looking thoughtful as she approached. Arriving before Daenerys, she dropped to her knees and flung her arms forward low onto the ground, kissing the floor. "Majesty, Pharaoh, all life, prosperity and health! As the People call you Mother, so are you the Mother of the Great House, Beloved of Nebt-het, Lady of the Great House of the Dead! You have raised yourself up to a Great House, and I honour you as a Mistress of a Great House. To my people as to the Ghis, the Pyramid is the Mother of the World, Majesty. You do propitious things by seating your upon it! What may this Beloved-of-Nit do for you?"

Rhaenys had warned Daenerys in advance about Merneith’s ascribing importance in ritual matters in her religion, but was 'practical about it, when the forms were observed'. Still, Daenerys felt somewhat taken aback by the grandiloquence.

"I have had your name proposed to me, Friend and Lady of my Royal Sister, to serve as my Hand and Regent in this land, and hence to rule in my name, to dispense justice and bring righteousness to this city and her people, to sit upon my throne in my absence and speak in my name. But I am no goddess, and it is my Royal Sister you have bent thine knee to. I shall not ask you to do so again to I.”

“You are very kind, Your Majesty.” Merneith rose and composed herself. “My intention is to take the crops of dry lands—Lady Eight Skulls is familiar with them—and quickly plant. We shall also build a great complex of fishing weirs on the river. They are simple and centralized, so that we need to teach nobody to learn to fish who does not wish to learn, and it will take much less time. Indeed, I shall bring food from the shattered chains, by using the fetters to build the weir.”

Daenerys’ eyes lit. She loved the image, the people going out with their shattered bonds to turn them into a means of sustenance. “How shall those who work the project be compensated for it?”

“They will own parts of it, and thus be able to sell the excess fish to those who maintain other occupations in the city.”

“And how will you administer justice?”

“Though some may complain, with perfect blindness as to the past. All must respect the Majesty of the Law,” Merneith answered. “I will weigh the scales according to deeds, and make determinations to fit them. Clemency is a separate prerogative I will exercise often at your discretion, for the people love a Sovereign who exercises Clemency.”

“Even to the families of the former Masters against their slaves?”

“The city will be healthier for it, if necessary. We have already punished the slaveowners for their crimes, in the night of blood.”

“So we did.” Daenerys settled back a bit. “And the farmers? How will they last for a harvest to be brought in?”

“We have root crops which can supply starches in as little as sixty days after planting. We have enough plunder to pay for food until the first crops are in, Your Majesty. We will give the farmers the plots that they can work, in freehold, and part of the excess will be collected to supply a store of food for the rest. I will cause the old slave pens to be converted into storehouses for crops.”

“If you rule so brilliantly,” Daenerys finally asked, measured, flat-out, to address Jorah’s concerns, “why will you not merely make yourself Pharaoh of the city, as you call it, and rule Astapor yourself, in my absence? What would keep you from the temptation of being a Queen?”

Merneith rose, but bowed again when she did. "Majesty, you are surrounded by three Bennu, the seat of your palace is a Great House of Re, you have become the mother of the Land, and there is thaumaturgy in the veins of your House. I will serve you as I would have served my father, who in the land of my birth was also Great House, the Vessel of Re. You are the Mother of the Great House, of Nebt-het, and you ask for no favours but I instead present to you a gift." She unclasped from around her neck a scarab beetle on a chain, of the finest jade, and stepped forward to bow again, and presented it to Daenerys.

"Nebt-het is the special protectress of the Bennu, the bird which lives an epoch of several hundred years, then dies in fire and is reborn in fire. Majesty, from the Fire of Valyria to the Rebirth upon the Pyre, there is such an epoch. Therefore I give to you a magical invocation to the Bennu. Understand this is real power; not some fake thing of lead in a market. The Bennu was long gone from our lands in the time of my birth, but we remembered this invocation. This world will not see another like this, made of jade. It is a thing of power. And consider this gift as my hostage to you, that I will keep well your city, in faith and confidence you will keep well in invocation to the Bennu. I serve the Queen of the Valach, and her cause is my cause, and so shall we obey her. We do this out of commitment to our cause. What is one crown compared to that?"

“If I do not trust the Queen of the Valach, I should trust no-one,” Daenerys said simply, taking the gift with a ginger reverence and hanging it around her neck; and she would, indeed, trust Rhaenys for she at least had no other choice. “I convey you to Viceregal authority of Astapor. Keep the City in my Stead, and hold it well, Merneith the Egyptian. I shall have faith in your honour.”

“You have my word, Majesty.” She rose, and saluted the Dragon Queen.

Daenerys stood, and stepped down to Merneith’s side. “Walk with me, Lady Merneith, and tell me more about your plans for the city.”

“I shall.” Merneith followed along, shrouded in shadow by her clothes. "I have one desire from you first, however, if I may beg an indulgence: that you would let me conduct rituals to my gods in your city, Majesty." 

"I care not what gods a loyal heart prays to, Lady Merneith. You may do so in what matter they deem fit in keeping with the laws.."

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” As they walked, Merneith then proceeded to go over the details of her plans for the city, and by the end of it, left Daenerys convinced that she would be a perfectly astute and reasonable governor for a city and wiser than most in the job, exactly as Rhaenys had promised.

Daenerys murmured; "You have my full confidence. The throne is yours to hold in my Stead, as I said, and I have utter faith in you, Lady Merneith."

Merneith leaned in close to Daenerys, and whispered softly. "Be of the most ferocious courage at Meereen, Majesty, then. Even after the crossing, My Lady is worth a grown dragon in main battle. She would hate to show herself thus, but she will not let you die." 

"I am no fighter, Lady Merneith. Nor a commander, not yet... but I will take it under advisement." She replied in her own whisper, and felt a hair nervous after being told such, a chill creeping into her. _As dangerous as a grown dragon in main battle?_

\-----

Daenerys wondered about whether or not she should bring it up. She wondered, too, how Merneith meant it. Did she meant the entire force of the Valach, or Rhaenys personally? Did she really understand what the legends of a full-sized dragon were?

Daenerys entered their shared room that night with her mind bubbling with questions. Rhaenys would have her hands gently folded together and be sitting, eyes closed.

The Queen of Dragons looked at her fellow Queen for a moment, and then shrugged her dress off rather than call for a handmaiden, to not disturb the other Queen, and un-did the braids holding the bells in her hair herself... three silver bells.

Rhaenys’ eyes flickered open. Daenerys was not surprised. "I couldn't hold Merneith back. She needs meaning here far from the land of her birth. She is more connected with it than most of my daughters, but also the oldest and most trusted." 

"I do not mind what gods a woman holds in her heart. I am not even sure I have any myself." The other young woman murmured, padding over to where a thin nightdress lay. "If she does well... then she is a good bannerwoman for you and a leal friend in our alliance. I will not forget that."

She loves womankind. She will not abandon this city to once again endure the suffering of its women. She will work like fire and light and lightning to keep it fast. It is a common failing of the Hidden Order. If you wish to call it a failing." 

"I think it admirable. Not a failing." A woman who should still be a girl took a few steps to look out over the balcony, at the city and the Bay. "...Not a failing."

Rhaenys rose, slipping aside the robe she wore, and walked up to Daenerys to stand beside her. In doing so, she revealed the actual nature of her dress: It bared her breasts by design, when she wasn't wearing the extra vest. _Very clearly_ by design. And she, too, regarded the city confidently. 

Her purple eyes flicked over. "You will have to buy your new dresses from the Summer Isles, it seems, from what Missandei tells me. Your people make them just as colourful, and just as daring."

Rhaenys was silent.

Daenerys sighed quietly, and ran a hand through her hair. "... I... Sister." She changed her mind and trailed off, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

It was enough, however, to prompt the Valach Queen to reply, her face flickering imperceptibly and her eyes fixed on the city. "Speak freely with me. I will not be dishonest. Please, Daenerys. Tell me." 

"The dreams are getting stronger. More vivid. And my children grow..."

"Yes. Something is happening in your world. I have started to become attuned to the magic here."

"What... do you know of dragons, my Royal Sister?" The question was asked in an exquisite moment of uncertainity that Daenerys felt, of vulnerability at confiding any lack of knowledge in her children to anyone else.

Rhaenys’ response was precise and methodical. "Commonly associated with the Egyptian Bennu in ancient legend, sometimes _supposedly_ found wild frittering around the edges of the northern Roman Empire and attacked by thaumaturges and heroes as dangers to the people... Never much verification."

“On the other hand... We are rather more confident that they are mustered in aerial fleets to defend the Qin Mandate of Heaven, far to the east."

Daenerys’ eyes snapped open in a mixture of surprise and shock. “In aerial fleets, you said? ... Do you know any details of how?"

“Dragons are wise like womankind in ways. They are not mere beasts. It is said on my world that there was one Dragon Queen at the dawn of humanity on my world. She became so powerful, so old, and so strong in her own magic that she could take on the body of a woman.”

Daenerys... whispered what came after, with a great deal of pain in her voice. "My son was deformed. He had scales, like a dragon, a stub of a tail, and small wings... in my fevers, I saw him... with my sun and stars' copper skin and my hair and eyes... he smiled at me and started to lift his hand... But then fire poured from his mouth whence he opened it, and his heart burned through his chest... and he was all gone into a pile of ash." She shivered and started to cry. "They are my children, but I know nothing. I nursed them at my breast, but they almost died when I did not realize they needed cooked meat... and now they grow, and I still know nothing."

The elder Queen slipped an arm around Daenerys. Her skin was cool to the touch, not unwelcome in Astapor though the night was chilling everything quickly. She spoke softly, and lyrically. "Behold these gates, the first one plain and old, the second forged of gold..."

"Daenerys, your blood is pulled between two natures. It gives you power but it is also what gives your family madness. You are part Dragon. Not in spirit but in fact of body. Thus has your family ever been."

"... I have never dreamed of being a dragon... or have I...? ... That is the legacy of Valyria? That we are... mad creatures, touched by our dragon-children? There were rumors, Ser Barristan told me. That women of my line have died trying to birth dragons. I think I very nearly did just that."

"Yes, you are quite right, that is exactly what nearly happened to you. Here is what I will say, Daenerys. You have the ability to communicate with dragons within you, not as words, but as sense and intent, instinctual, but you must learn how to use it. I do not know how to do this; I simply know it is magical, thaumaturigcal, and brought about by introspection."

“However, this will be much more possible if you are open to the idea of them as your kin and do not regard the fate of your half-formed son as a regret. Rather that malformity was a sacrifice to the highest powers for the survival of your dual nature. Not your fault, not his fault, but a legacy of your blood since time immemorial. You may disagree... But it will just make the dreams worse. Prophetic visions are parasitic, they prey on uncertainty and guilt in the mind. These things cannot exist along with the visions; you must cut them out. Visions create women of steel, women who are like knives, hard, like the desert, coiled."

"If you try to resist becoming that, you will die. Stand in place. Let the fire wash over you. And when it has past, follow its course. Nothing else will remain, and you will come face to face with yourself."

Her face twisted into an odd look at that... and she stepped over to one of the candles, and rather silently, started playing her fingertips through the flame without flinching. "Dracarys." She looked up. "So many want things of me. So many want my dragons. But the dragon has three heads, and I am but one..."

Rhaenys looked up toward the stars. “Let me make my own interpretation of that dream, Daenerys.”

“Go ahead,” she shrugged.

"Maid, Mother, Crone. You are a woman still, and a woman in soul. To be one-in-three is the power women have that men do not. You are all three heads of the Dragon at once."

Daenerys pursed her lips and looked out to the city. “I am not certain I agree with that interpretation... not that many in Westeros would care. Ser Jorah told me 'the common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends. It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace. They never are.' ... And yet I find it is the common people who I feel closest to, those who only want me to bring them a Queen's Peace."

"Peace." The Valach Queen dropped her voice an octave and in a silky contralto repeated the word. “Peace.” She looked out over the city to the sea beyond, and by extension to Valyria. "I am far more terrified of the Power that put a Geas on your entire world to hold constant the declination to the Sun, than what brings peace or war to a State. I have not yet discovered their ken." 

Beside her, the smaller woman struggled with the meaning of the words, but the way they were spoken so ominously made her almost entranced as she looked at the Valach Queen. She tried to remember all the legends and stories. _What’s she getting at..._ "They say the Long Summer that never ends will come when there is no evil in the hearts of men. And I was told that the Night's Watch on the Wall stands guard against... what was it that Ser Jorah called them? The Others who ruled the Long Night? But they have been dead and gone eight thousand years now."

Rhaenys snorted. It was such a completely incongruous expression from the Valach Queen that Daenerys goggled at it. "Eight thousand years isn't enough time to kill something that can cast magic over the seasons."

Rhaenys stared intensely at Daenerys in the silence, and then broke it with sharp, intense words, her face commanding. "Ser Jorah, you say, knows of these things? For I have been able to find out nothing!" 

She felt herself tensing, her back especially, at the commanding voice half-directed at her. "You would have to ask him, Rhaenys. The North remembers such silly tales, which they use to scare their children."

"Daenerys...” Rhaenys’ voice calmed.

"What?" Daenerys stared at Rhaenys, simultaneously frustrated and upset, now. She put no stock at all in the stories from Westeros, and was confounded by the Valach Queen.

Then, very calmly, Rhaenys plucked a small vial from her bodice, pressed a drop to her finger and cast it out toward the harbour with a gesture like she were shaking water from her hand. A sudden deep fog of chill rolled in across the city from the sea as she departed from Daenerys' presence without another word, the mist bathing the trees and crops in badly needed moisture, but being unusual and disconcerting all the same. While the mist closed around the balcony, the Valach Queen disappeared back into the building.

Daenerys had the grace to shiver violently, and stare sharply at Rhaenys’ retreat, too stunned for words. That had been, bluntly, terrifying. _The Wizards of the House of the Undying could not match that feat! Gods!_

She tried to force herself to calm down. It had, perhaps, answered the question she had badly wanted to raise after what Merneith had said, but without having had the courage to bring it up. The woman was a sorceress: She had admitted as much before. And now she had just shown Daenerys that she was possibly one of the strongest in existence.

\----------------------------------

Modestly dressed again, Rhaenys would pay a call to Ser Jorah. 

He had been turning in to sleep, but would come to the door, a bit bleary, in a light tunic and breeches, heavy on the stubble of the day; and offering a slight bow. "Your Grace, is something the matter with the Queen?"

"No, Ser Jorah. I instead--come here to respect the traditions of your people, and ask you to share them with me. I can call handmaids for tea if fatigue touches you." 

"...Might be a good idea...” Jorah admitted, and Rhaenys’ promptly called for one them.

“Ah, Your Grace, we an adjourn somewhere else--preferably by a fire, as this is an odd chill for our time here with this fog having come quickly in. The traditions of my people, though? My House? Bear Isle? The North?"

"The Wall." A bemused smile touched her lips. "Yes, let's find another place though, a fire is a good place for this. There is a place... These fogs are not unheard of on desert coasts, but very rare."

"Please, Your Grace, lead the way... I fear that most of this I heard from my 'nan, or a bit from my father." He winced. "My Lord father leads the Night's Watch in their watch upon the Wall, Your Grace. This will be some pain, but I will tell you what I can. The Wall was raised by Brandon the Builder, King in the North, the first Stark, eight thousand years ago, after the Long Night was ended by the Last Hero and the first men of the Night's Watch, during the Battle for the Dawn. A hundred leagues of ice, dozens of feet thick, seven hundred feet high, sea to sea. They say he wove sorceries into the foundations to defend it from what lay to the north."

"Yes, Siege Thaumaturgy. That would be very necessary," she nodded almost knowingly, as they moved to sit in a drawing room where the fire had been lit for the first time in a long while, and tea in the Chinese style was prepared for them as the handmaids had been taught to the Queen Rhaenys' preference. 

"The Night's Watch have guarded it ever since... though the order is much reduced of late. Only three of the nineteen way castles still garrisoned, I think it is. It was five in my youth. It has never been severely tested, though, not since the Night's King, the thirteenth Lord Commander, damn his memory, for even my crimes pale to his." Jorah looked up from his reflexive cursing of the Night’s King. His exhausted eyes, still heavy with his private shame, looked to the Valach Queen and found her queerly intense.

"The Night's King? Would you tell me this story? I wish to know all that you do, and I will not mock it as even my Royal Sister does," Rhaenys spoke gently, to bely her expression. "I .... Take seriously this tale, already."

"The Night's King was a warrior without fear, and when he saw a woman atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars, he chased her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. He brought her back to the Nightfort and proclaimed her a queen, and himself her king-consort, and with sorceries he bound his Sworn Brothers to his will. For thirteen years he ruled until finally the Stark of Winterfell and Joramun of the Wildings joined together to free the Watch from bondage. After his fall, when it was learned he had been sacrificing to the Others, all records of him were destroyed, and his very name was forbidden to be remembered or spoken." Jorah spoke like a man repeating a childhood tale he didn't quite believe in. "They say the Others can raise the dead to mockeries of life with dead, dead glowing eyes, who feast on the flesh of their fallen comrades. Where it is cold, so they are. Some stories say they bring the cold, or the cold brings them, and much the same for darkness. They ride the dead, with great spiders of ice the size of direwolves... cold, dead things that hate all life. Maesters say they don't exist, that they never existed... well, they did. And it was the North that threw them back."

Jorah lapsed into silence for a moment as they drank their tea. "Killed them, made them as much a memory as the children of the forest."

"It's all true. It's too reasonable to be false." Rhaenys sipped her tea. “Killed them all?”

"Well, of course it is. Why else would the Night's Watch be forbidden to raise walls around their castles? It was so they'd always be open to the south if it happened again." He paused. "Her Grace never asked the story. But if Winter is coming, then the Wildings will test the Watch again... and it's weaker than ever, now. Men used to go north out of honor, and duty. Now they take the dregs of the gaols, rather than hang them." He shrugged. "The Starks never forgot, and nor did the North, not with that motto. Winter is coming. It always does..."

"Winter in the north of this world is not a natural event, Ser Jorah,” Rhaenys answered as matter-of-factly as a lecturer. “It should be a short season of a few months occurring in balance with the others, across each celestial year."

“That’s the mildest winter I’ve ever heard of,” Jorah shook his head. “Winter is a thing that can last years, freezing lord and smallfolk alike in their castles and hovels, and piling forty feet of snow upon the Kingsroad. That is the winter the North knows, when it's a hard one."

“Yes, winter should be modest—and regular--rather than that.” Her eyes focused, her pupils nearly disappeared. “I think that the Others created that winter by fell magic, in the height of their power. Perhaps they are all gone, and the strange seasons linger because no human has the power to undo what they wrought on the world. That it remains like a ghost, when their threat has been defeated , to haunt and cause suffering, but not to truly threaten."

Then she grinned, and it showed her teeth, unsettingly. "Or perhaps not."

"The Long Night lasted a generation, Your Grace, a generation of darkness and cold. There has been no such thing since, thank the gods. Some winters are mild and short, others long and bitter. Every time we have a long summer, the smallfolk dare to hope the Eternal Summer has finally come... it never has. It never will."

"No, it never will, I agree. Thank you so very kindly, Ser Jorah. I knew nothing and did not know I knew nothing before. Now I know nothing... But I know that I know nothing. That is, to me, a great improvement. If you hear word of strange tidings from the Northland ever, please do not hesitate to swiftly tell me." 

"Alas, Your Grace, I have no ears in the North. Not any longer, and not this far from home. Still, if I do, I shall inform you through Her Grace. By your leave, Your Grace?"

"Rest well, Ser Jorah." 

"And yourself, Your Grace."

Rhaenys quickly rose and left, taking a last cup of tea with her.

\---------------

Daenerys was still up, looking at a map she'd unrolled of Westeros, and with a book open beside her, standing before a table, tracing lines and moving her mouth without speaking.

Rhaenys stepped up to her side. She was silent, and comfortable in the night--and somewhat tired, though the pyramid was more comfortable than most homes to her. She waited, deciding if she would actually sleep during the night--she was weaker and more faded now than Merneith's boast admitted--or go into the city for its life in the night.

Daenerys looked back to her. "My apologies, Sister... I just... try to think of the home I have never seen." She closed the book with a sigh, and re-rolled the map. "What I must do, the promises I have made, the dreams I have seen... are you well? Did you speak with Ser Jorah?”

“I did.”

“You seem troubled by it.”

"Tomorrow we will load the ships for Meereen. You have essentially given command of the operation to me. I am a Kaptarian and I will storm Meereen like a Kaptarian, from the water. I am not worried by _that._ ” A pause. "As for Westeros and Ser Jorah.... Do not disparage the tales of the Others, Daenerys."

She gave a sigh. "I should not. For dragons were also nothing but tales... ‘...a king with shining blue eyes, a sword of flame, casting no shadow’, that’s what I saw..."

"There are many powers moving. I can feel them nibbling around the edges of us, my young friend. I have drawn cloaks to protect us." She paced, thoughtfully. “Have you ever been told the story of what the Others do to those folk they slay?" 

"I have never been told any tales of the 'Others', Rhaenys."

"You know now that... I have some powers in the Hidden World, which are unattenuated by my presence here." She gestured and glowing green sigil-letters appeared in the air above them, spun and converged, united in a shadowy, glowing, shield-shaped vision.

Daenerys gasped, and looked sharp-straight at it.

The vision looked out onto a great avenue, with colonnades, larger than anything in Astapor, Quarth, King's Landing.... Larger than them all. It looked down toward burning buildings, a falling palace. A great black cloud with strange tendrils was stretching across the city, and in the streets, surged piles of bones and rotted corpses, the living dead. 

It didn't seem possible for the girl to grow more pale, but she did. She couldn’t blink, she couldn’t peel her eyes away.

"I told you I had a falling out with a man who had decided to appropriate for himself the title of a living God, and had decided to seek my freedom at any price. You see before you the view through my eyes at the last battle at which we fought as allies." A dramatic pause. "Our enemy, veiled in the black cloud."

"I was the weaker of the twain then, and that battle weakened me more. Escaping the enemy's servants who attacked me afterwards, weakened me again. Escaping _Him_ when he took the supreme power, weakened me yet more. Crossing to this world, even more. Surviving Valyria, yet more." 

"I am a pale shadow of who I was. Merneith called me the equal of a full-grown dragon. Well, she exagerrates, and even compared to the weakest of full-grown dragons. But she does not exagerrate enough to call into account her wisdom or her honesty. The people of my world had refined magic to a very high level, calling it Thaumaturgy. But here magic is weak and old, making me, even when I stand so wrecked and so dissolute as I am right now, seem powerful again." A mirthless smile held the Valach Queen’s lips. "Unfortunately Ser Jorah told me that one of the features of the Others is that they raise the dead as revenants. Just like it was in the streets of Constantinople." The vision snapped away. 

Rhaenys turned to the silent Daenerys. "Pay heed to what people say of them. That is all I ask you. As for Meereen, I will protect you from murder by plot and poison. But otherwise I am distracted and will not, say, be able to conquer the city by sorcery. We will have to get it the hard way. I am ... Distracted." She looked to the north. 


	8. Meereen

Astapor had a small fleet of little consequence, but the ships were still useful. The slave oarsmen were now free oarsmen, and for the operation against Meereen, Rhaenys placed Admiral Azakokht in command of the sixteen galleys which formed their fleet. The Persian Admiral found them a sorry lot, but had worked to put them right. _Their_ job was to escort the main body, made up exclusively of oared merchant galleys (Rhaenys did not want to trust the winds to deliver sailing merchants to Meereen on time with reinforcements, because, she insisted, timing was critical for the operation).

Traveling ahead of them was the Valach fleet. The Dromon held crossbow-women on the decks. The cargo galleys each had 200 of the less-trained Unsullied belowdecks; the fully trained Unsullied had remained to defend Astapor To Daenerys the cramped conditions had looked terrifying, but they were well-fed and endured it matter-of-factly for the chance at liberation of the great city. It meant that, once the oarsmen on the Valach ships went ashore with their Menavlioi, they would have 5,500 troops in the first wave. This was not enough to take a city the size of Meereen, except that Rhaenys had promised she had a plan to keep them from closing the gates. The volunteer Pike from Astapor made up the later waves.

Daenerys and her commanders had to have faith that the Queen’s plan would work. With a calm wind and little sea to speak of, the Valach at the oars of her war-galleys getting plenty of work in as the nine ships constantly work to keep formation, sailing out of sight of land in the bay until very close to Meereen, according to the calculations of Rhaenys' sunstone and bronze gearboxes and water-clocks and an odd stick and pendulum she used to sight the sun during the day. Whatever kind of magic it was, it was subtle, and on her own ships, unlike the hired cogs, met with no muttering: For the women and men of the Valach, who disliked the sea, trusted their Queen’s confidence on it as virtually the only talisman which gave them confidence to be on the water at all.

They arrived off of Meereen with meticulous precision. The strange instruments of the Valach Queen seemed almost unfailing in that regard, while the strong backs of the Valach men kept them clipping through the water at a steady pace. As they needed Meereen, a favourable breeze from the sea even allowed them to set the angled, triangular sails of the Dromon. Each ship had one of those massive sails on each mast, with the mainmast amidship bearing a square tops’l above it, and the sharply raked bowsprit a second squares’l. With this assistance, they made quick time for Meereen.

Rhaenys stood to starboard on the foredeck, and watched impassively as the enormous pyramid which dominated the city, the Great Pyramid of Meereen, filled the sky before the fleet. With the other lesser pyramids around it, it left the city having a formidable disposition as a cluster of mountains. F or the better part of an hour, she watched the city as if she were in contemplation about it, admitting and showing no kind of emotion at all, while the tension slowly built. From sighting the city to arriving in the river, oars working and hauling steadily in toward Meereen, took five hours. On that flat coastal plain, they could already see the whole city, from the massive walls to the clusters of buildings high enough to rise above them, even absent the height of the pyramids, which dominated the whole region.

A woman near Daenerys quietly spoke. "It is like making to conquer Babylon..." She was one of the Sisters, who murmured from where she drew herself up under a parasol. All the Sisters seemed to carry them even when dressed and fitted for war, and it was an odd touch on the quarterdeck of the lead war-dromon, when the Sisters were otherwise dressed, armed and armoured as soldiers.

"It is indeed a city for the ages,” Rhaenys remarked as she returned, abruptly, to the Quarterdeck. “We are close enough.” She flashed a tight smile to Daenerys and then turned to the Sister who had spoken. “Signal the dromon to back oars and let the merchants ahead. They are to come to starboard and begin their ascent of the Skahazadhan. Our transport squadron should be in the van, taking soundings! Go below, Sister Eresh-nu-hapt,” she spoke to another of the women, “and see to the infernal engine." The pallid but brown-skinned woman's expression... Twisted up charmingly. There was a room forward on the ships sectioned off from the hold where nobody normally went that was kept firmly locked. 

_The infernal engine..._ Daenerys stiffened, and could see Ser Barristan do the same.

Rhaenys produced a strange folding tube and pointed it from one eye toward the wall of the city, and made a contented noise. "Hhnnnh. It has been a while since I've done this," she remarked to no-one in particular, though the ship was, functionally, with the dragons and Daenerys and Rhaenys aboard, the command ship of the fleet for the effort.

"The fleet will turn by points and start working up the Skahazadhan, and we will all pass the docks and enter the river. There is no law against sailing up rivers. They will think we are anchoring for shelter,” Rhaenys directed.

Ser Barristan stepped up to her side. He was still uncomfortable with the plan. "It is a brave soul, Your Grace, who seeks to take a city at the run, even if they have not closed the gates before you. The chaos will be immense, and assuredly will never be allowed again..." Barristan had his sword sheathed, and watched the city grow larger and larger. Simply by its vastness it was intimidating, considering the small size of the first wave.

Jorah stepped up beside him, shaking his head. “At least twice the size of King's Landing, do you think?"

"At least, Ser, at least,” Barristan agreed.

"I don't intend to storm the city, Ser Barristan... Until I have made adequate preparations to guarantee that it is defenceless and demoralised and they cannot trap us within the walls. Among other things we'd have to do... Well, maybe I am not that brave these days. So I will use a contrivance: The Infernal Engine.”

Barristan looked at her.

“It is a weapon that must be so secret, and has been kept so secret in my possession, that I did not wish to ruin its effect. I believe you have similar in parts, but.... Not of the same contrivance as this device. They have no river-docks as far as I can tell, so it will be unusual for ships to ascend the river but I have been assured it can be done for perhaps a league past the city. It is a very good anchorage and in very bad storms sometimes ships draw up here, at least according to what the Astapori pilots say." 

Missandei, standing at Daenerys’ side, could answer that. "That is so, Your Grace. This one has heard tales of ships thrown up-river, to wreck and be looted the same. Near to where the river forks."

Rhaenys smiled. “Thank you. At any rate, the current will shortly be our friend, Ser Barristan, in the river. Rivers are wonderful things, they wash an entire land free of effluents of every sort." She was smiling, a knowing, bemused smile that was not kind, and did not seem disconcerted by the fact that black smoke was starting to issue from a pipe coming up from the hull at the aft of the forecatle. In fact, swathes of smoke were slowly beginning around every one of the war galleys in the same place.

Ser Barristan looked at the smoke issuing from the ship he was on, and then on the other ships as well. His eyes took in the three siphons, one fixed forward and two trainable, one on each beam, and the way, that he had noticed before, but not paid much heed to, that the decks forward were plated with copper. Then he looked to Rhaenys. "You have wildfire, don't you?" He didn't sound exceptionally pleased about that idea. "Seven help us... you'll see that city yours, even if it's ashes." His voice held reproach for the woman whose combat skills he had come to respect. “Surely there is a better way.”

Rhaenys sighed and turned away from him to face the city. "Mine is not magical." 

He gave her a sharp look below the brow of his helmet. "... Men care not when they are aflame the why of it, Your Grace."

Rhaenys laughed. It was not a pleasant expression, and it reminded Ser Barristan how little of this woman and her people and customs and values that he knew. "Ser Barristan, I meant to imply thus that I have very much more of it than if it was magical. It is an artifice."

She gestured out toward the city, and the river. "Now, see, we'll clear the bridge just ahead after the rest of the ships do, and then we'll back water. See the gate by the outh of the river? That is my objective. It is bossed in metal but we'll heat it so much that the stones themselves will crack. We'll keep them from sending reinforcements to the gate-towers by pumping them down with fire."

An ominous whining noise had slowly started forward, and Ser Barristan stiffened, wondering just what Daenerys’ response to this ominous development would be. “Your Grace, your words do nothing to assuage me.”

Rhaenys ignored him and instead continued to look out at Meereen, and speak the words that she had chosen. "Have you ever watched an indolent serving wench leave a covered pot over fire until it bubbled right off and clattered into the flame?" She continued without an answer. “At any rate, what you see is not Wildfyre, not yet; instead, it’s the same force as the wench’s covered pot, the infernal engine harnesses that power to pump a column of liquid fire almost to an arrow's shot."

“Might as well charge into a dragon's mouth as face that, Your Grace." He did not like the idea.

“I am not going to destroy the city. The Valach are trained in how to tear down burning walls.” Rhaenys gestured imperiously. “The target is that gate. I am very confident that fire won’t be allowed to spread, and it is not so flammable as Wildfyre; we can bring the burning to a halt more easily, so set your conscience at ease. It is the men along the wall and in the gatehouses who will suffer the consequences of fire, and it will save our own troops. Does it really matter how they die?”

Ser Barristan looked at the gate for a while, and then turned away. "Dead is dead, Your Grace, and the fewer we bury, the better. By your leave, I will to my men and make ready."

At least at first, the people of Meereen were confused rather than frightened or alert. Staring at the grand fleet moving up towards their city from the south, with no herald of war, they hoped it was a great trading fleet, and many of them had made preparations in the slave markets to sell their wares. The ships were excellent, and unfamiliar, and the smoke rising off of them attracted considerable attention, but for the moment they hesitated at thinking them enemies, their fine lines suggesting a convoy from some distant nation.

As the noise of the steam rose into a sharp whistle, Daenerys was finding herself busier and busier keeping her dragons under control. Fire got them riled quickly, and Daenerys knew that soon enough there would be blood as well. Conversely, her soldiers were either very disciplined, or at least slightly disciplined, and there was no concern or discomfort in evidence from those belowdecks. As the merchant ships moved up river, they still looked for all the world like a very heavily escorted convoy of merchants... or so the city seemed to still regard them, as they moved closer to the docks.

Rhaenys now glanced back to the dragons flitting around. Daenerys saw her expression and needed no words; she wanted the dragons belowdecks to avoid attracting too much attention, and so, the Queen of the Dragons shepherded her children back into the sterncastle. On shore, crowds had now arrived at the docks to watch them, and they seemed to hesitate in confusion, wondering what the smoke was from the ships, and what the real intention of the squadron was.

A little while after that, the merchant galleys had pulled ahead, and the nine Dromon had anchored downstream of the transports. Those on Rhaenys’ flagship could see activity on the shore--presumably an envoy had been sent out from the city, while on the decks of the ships, the noise was a roaring whine that sounded like the kind of sound a harpy might make. It could be heard ashore, now, and that would perhaps be disconcerting to the Meereeenese. 

Men on the walls started to look furtive, and indeed, a palanquin had started out towards the ships, with an escort of guards, coming to a stop along the shore. They would have to take one of the ferries at the crossing used to augment the high old Ghiscari stone bridge to get out to the flagship, which was now smoking steadily and quite disconcertingly making that whine-roar without ceasing.

The party escorting the man on the palanquin could also well see that inset in the upper hoist of the flag was the harpy, though, and that was cause for some comfort, at least, as the dozen slaves bearing it, with slave-soldiers around it made their hustle to the ferry, and thence pushed the chained rowers into motion, towards the waiting fleet with all of the odd and uncertain omens it was showing.

The Valach Queen would be standing alongside the rail with her hand on the hilt of her sword when the Meereenese emissary aproached. She was watching the barge come up alongside them as, below her feet, the Dromon shifted lightly on her anchors in the flow of the river. The image she presented to anyone was intimidating, let alone with the constant whistling in the background: She was very, very tall for a woman.

Daenerys had returned to her side with the dragons once the Meereenese were committed and the emissary was coming onboard. The night before, Rhaenys had offered to handle the entire distasteful matter herself, but the Dragon-Queen would not let someone else dirty her hands in what had to be done, in something she would not do herself. She could not fight... but she could speak. Behind her, the dragons fluttered up to perches in the rigging of the mizzen-mast, shying as far away from the noise as they could.

Quietly, without words exchanged, Daenerys and Rhaenys would wait, impassively, for the emissary to come aboard. They were a united front.

The man who came aboard was in a tokkar, and he had to be carried aboard by body slaves, for the garb simply would not allow easy coming on board a ship. He was perfumed, with oiled hair in ringlets, not elderly yet, but middle aged and with a paunch, and he looked about with a derisive frown at that horrible noise which filled the air.

As he had to spend a sustained period of time being helped aboard, by the time he arrived, Rhaenys was tapping the tip of her left foot onto the wooden deck, looking suitably impatient. 

Once he was set down, though, he would present himself. "I am Kezzan no Uraban of Meereen. Noble ladies, why have you come to the great city of Meereen, with your ships so many and banners so strange...?"

Rhaenys nodded to Daenerys, and didn’t speak. Daenerys had insisted she would stand by the Valach Queen’s side for this, and Rhaenys respected her. It would, after all, be her city.

Daenerys pulled herself up, always feeling a little self-conscious next to the Valach Queen’s height. "We come from the south, Lord Kezzan, on a great quest. Might we be permitted your city, for our people are tired from their long journey?"

His eyes flicked up to the dragons above, and with an almost gracious bow, he would offer; "Rumors of the rebirth of dragons has been heard amongst our fair city, and the truth is welcome to be seen. Your request is assuredly granted, noble lady."

Daenerys turned her head to her companion and smiled. "You heard him."

 _She is the sweetest tongued woman who may have ever lived,_ Rhaenys was, again, greatly impressed by the Dragon Queen. Indeed, everything was in order... They had played out this charade for as long as they could, and one might even say that this, the second time Daenerys had done something like it after Astapor, had given them a paper-thin shred of legitimacy. _Might we be permitted your city._ The subtlety in High Valyrian had been lost on Lord Kezzan’s debased version of the speech, but it was legendary, make no mistake. From the point of view of a Dragonlord’s tongue, he had just technically ceded Meereen to them.

With a savage keen in her heart, Rhaenys played along, speaking in the language she used that Missandei had already begun to learn. "Then, Sir, you have agreed. Bow Daenerys Queen of Meereen and Astapor, for she is your lawful sovereign by your own submission, and we expect you to show it, for I am her Royal Sister, Rhaenys of Velos and all the Cedars, and I will not bear to see my Sister insulted so, that you give your city to her but do not make obesience." 

Lord Kezzan’s face contorted into some confusion and then into growing fury, as Missandei translated that as well into the local variant of Low Valyrian. What was already polished became a thing of burnished beauty at that girl's silver tongue, even if the second tongue was less of an artifice, she knew exactly how to use it.

"Is this some kind of jest, woman? She has been given hospitality, not a city, you foolish creature!"

Rhaenys’ grind was a wicked thing. "She didn't say that, she said may we be permitted your city. Not in your city." There was something in her bemusement which made even Daenerys feel cold. “We would never abuse hospitality like that. You are, however, now guilty of treason,” the Valach Queen continued matter-of-factly, making herself sound very banal. "Melusthine, suppress the insurrection!" 

A red pennant ran up the flagship's mizzen. Rhaenys waited until she was very sure that the words had been fully and clearly translated by Missandei for the maximum effect.

As soon as she had almost finished, and not waiting for what was obvious, Lord Kezzan turned his head, drawing in breath to shout; "CLOSE THE GATES, THEY MAKE WAR!" down at his boat, which would thence, in theory, pass word to the city proper. At a vigorous gesture of his hand, his slave-soldiers went to their weapons and moved to attack the pair, and poor Missandei the herald scrambled away from incipient violence.

Daenerys had the sense to not call fire while standing on a wooden ship with some infernal fires already smouldering below the deck.

That meant it was Rhaenys’ chance to demonstrate what she could do as a warrior. The Valach Queen leapt up into the air and delivered an incredibly powerful kick straight to the midsection of the man on the palanquin with a steel-toed and heeled Parthian riding boot. From the strength and power behind it, the man's palanquin went flying from the bearers, the slaves chained to it tumbling down onto the deck as Lord Kezzan rolled off it in disorder.

Before he could rise, the Valach Queen’s feet were on the deck, and she slashed with drawn sword at the first of the slave soldiers before her. Drawn and wielding Brightroar in two hands, she stood between Daenerys and the armed slaves on the deck, circling slowly toward Lord Kezzan. “Will you fight for your Masters, or for your Freedom?”

The ships, at the red signal, were brought into action. Azakokht had the second wave, the Sister called Melusthine was serving as the Valach Queen’s direct subordinate. She had the portside trainable projectors and fixed ahead projectors aimed toward the city--18 in all. At the signal, fire erupted from their bows in columns of orange flame toward the still-open gate. Like fountains of water, they rose into the air, and descended, flecking droplets of liquid fire as they descended, trailing smoke... The steam driven fire slapping down into the ground around the gates, washing around and engulfing them to the sound of distant screams.

Now the mechanical artillery on the ships also opened fire. The terrifying potential of the engines with their heavy bronze gears and torsion bars was quickly demosntrated; with wooden troughs above the ballistae they could operate in a rapid fire mode against the walls of the city and the men, while at the signal from the flag, the commanders of the transports would be driving them ashore.

Daenerys’ entourage was shocked, though it made Ser Barristan think of the stories of Aegon IV the Unworthy’s Clockwork Dragons and the ill-fated invasion of Dorne. Daenerys herself... She had a vision of what her dragons would be when they grew up.

Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah were too busy, however, facing together with Rhaenys and a growing knot of Valach troops, the slave-soldiers of the tokar-clad lord. Lord Kezzan rolled on the deck, as Rhaenys approached his little—and with a snap of Brightroar, shattered the bonds of the first slave.

Missandei had regained her position. “Brothers, know that you are free, for the Breaker of Chains has claimed your city, she will give the slaving Lords only fire and blood, the Masters will Perish, Brothers, do not fight for your Masters!”

The slave soldiers trembled in the moment, and Rhaenys knew she did not have long before she would have to act to keep the operation on its timetable.

Then one of the men turned and drove the butt of his spear into Lord Kezzan, driving him off the deck. He went down with a scream, onto the water, and did not come back up. Missandei raised her fist in a quiet salute... And then Daenerys did, too. The liberation had begun.

Beyond their little scene, the Valach Queen’s ships poured iron and fire into the defences of Meereen. The gate they had targeted was aflame, the towers the same, and men fleeing in panic from the death Rhaenys’ fleet had brought to bear in a heart-stopping instant.

Now, Rhaenys made her lunge to the beam, looking down at the ferry that Lord Kezzan had commandeered. She wasn't content to stay on the deck, with the command well in hand. Instead, bracing herself for a moment to the rocking of the vessel, she leapt the gap to the ferry, and with pale white-to-white eyes flaring ominously, faced the men on the deck with her levelled sword. She looked more confident in fighting upon a creaking wooden hull than even an ironborn. 

The two men of the Kinsguard in heavy plate were markedly less keen to make that sort of leap behind her, but the shouts of the freed slaves on the deck of the Dromon had an impact. Here, too, and without fighting, the slave-soldiers threw down their arms.

Rhaenys jogged down the upper deck to the tiller. “Daenerys, come aboard! We'll pull for shore. You ought tell the troops how they should fight when we land, it is your city to take!" She nudged the tiller with a boot to drive the bow and the barge's cart gangplank back into touch. Thousands of troops were now coming ashore, after all, and Azakokht was bringing up eight thousand more in the merchants seized at Astapor.

The Dromon would keep pumping fire straight into the gate now so that it was a roaring inferno, an oil fire covering the whole area, completely soaked in, literally a pool of burning oil forming and running, burning, back into the river, where it would drift down into the bay to threaten the docks. 

Before the troops had even arrived, then, the city started to descend into chaos, soldiers straggling out of their barracks. Some were free, some whipped, all moving as the smallfolk of the city ran for their lives from the fire and the blades. Daenerys in her dress clambered down with her two guards - the fire and blood had roused the dragons, and they were gouting flame now as well, adding to the pure slaughter and fire of it all... it was quite hellish indeed, as both her troops and the Valach Queen’s moved into the city. "Are... different orders than last time called for...?"

The question brought the Valach Queen’s eyes to her’s. "I do not believe so," Rhaenys answered, simply. "But it will be much harder than in Astapor. The city's four times as large and the free population is bigger by proportion. There's a hundred and sixty thousand free folk in here... Quite a lot of masters to kill."

She'd have a flag hoisted on the barge as they went ashore, ordering the Dromon to cease fire. It would have been very eerie, sailing under the columns of flames, but Rhaenys had been confident. Now they cut off abruptly and in doing so hid the fact that even with their large tanks.... Well, they would have run dry eventually, and it would have been very soon indeed if they hadn’t stopped using the whirling aeolipiles to drive fire-pumps at the city just then. They had, however, more than done their job. The area of the gate was still pooled with burning fire, the gatehouses themselves in flames. 

So complete were the fires that the soldiers would have to form up and wait as the fire burned. It was the one disadvantage of the plan.

Discipline—even the junior Unsullied knew discipline, and it seemed the Valach were not ill-discipled themselves. If they had to wait for the fire to burn out, they would wait for the fire to burn out. They were sheltered behind their shields, in an attack column, waiting for the first break they could move through. Shielding the freedmen behind them, and their small contingent of mounted soldiers, last of all, shaking their horses as they came ashore.

Grey Worm had come with these younger Unsullied precisely they were not as rigidly tested as those who were fully trained. He judged the moment, and as soon as they could pass with no or only minor burns, they were moving, and at the quick. It would save them blood later.

"The Valach at the rear,” Rhaenys instructed. It sounded a little callous of Daenerys’ troops, but she shot a look. “They are armed for it and can fight with independent and loose order well with those Menavlioi though I doubt Meereen has much in the way of cavalry with which to counterattack in the streets... Beware, though, the gate's fully engulfed and could collapse at any time in a pile of rubble. I'll be landing sailors from the fleet to stand by to start clearing that, but we may be cut off inside the city for a while, and best to pass under it quickly." 

"Then it will be done.” Daenerys had a moment of inspiration. “Pick some sisters you trust to make good appeals--they will rally the men and women who die in the fighting pits to our side. They will do well in the narrow confines of the streets." She was thinking, at least, as she swung onto her silver mare, now landed, to move foward, her dragons close, but circling, screeching and belching fire at enemies.

"Yes, I will send six sisters of the order to this task." The women seemed exceptionally skittish of fire, for all their battle reputation, but Rhaenys charted out a cautious course through the gate where the liquid fire sank and fell back to one side, and ducked fast under the burning gate-house. "The other five.... With your permission, Daenerys. I will send them to the houses of government."

"It is so granted, Rhaenys." She looked up at those great pyramids as they closed into the city. Daenerys had no worry about the fire. Her horse, yes, but not her, not now, so her only trouble was keeping the mare calm. "The wages of the years of chains and blood brought to roost on those who have grown fat and rich." Her hands clenched tightly on the reins... this girl was being shaped into one who had scrupules about the lives of others as few did, and had been still somewhat shielded from the precise effects of everything she was doing, but Fire and Blood was her family's motto for a reason, and she did not flinch from it here.

Rhaenys would issue orders quietly, and stayed pressed close to the Queen on her own horse. A group of woman led to the by Babylonian Eresh headed off to the fighting pits through the streets, drawing shadows close at hand, and leaving corpses in their wake, which seemed strangely killed when the Queen’s entourage passed by later. So too did the five heading toward the great pyramid, to execute an utterly brutal massacre on the Meereenese lords before they could disperse or attempt to flee, and cast their bodies down to the flagstones below to hide the evidence. They infiltrated through the streets and the chaos, providing no warning and no opportunity for an organised defence like the soldiers did, gutting the leadership of the defence before the military units could even face the arriving troops.

As orders ceased to be given and rumours ripped through the streets at the mysterious killings that nobody seemed to see, as heralds and soldiers and generals realised that Lords were dying behind them, the panic spread. The city's defences fell into chaos. The gladiators were freed, and freedom was a heady brew, as those men (and a few women, it had to be said) were willing to take up arms under the encouragement of the Sisters and turn against their Masters.

Meanwhile, smoke was starting to roil up inside those great walls from fires being set by revolting and rioting slaves, and it seemed so very easy to find the men in their distinctive dress, or the ones with whips... there were just so many of them that it would take longer, and as the Masters started to realise that they were being inexorably targeted for death, they started to try to flee out the gates, sometimes with families and retainers and sometimes, desperately, alone, to the landward side of the city.

Rhaenys appeared much more concerned with keeping the fire at the gates from spreading any further within the walls, than anything else. The Valach were not skittish of fire, at least, like her sisters seemed to be; and she was soon having buildings pulled down with the help of the free companies of soldiers from Astapor to create a fire break around the inferno lest it begin to jump to buildings, and make sure that the sea-gates were sealed against the fire in the docks. They were taking care of the city because now it would be their’s. 

Soon enough the local population began to tell as well. The sisters, returning, brought freed slaves with them, and some of the new-freed slaves were quickly organized into bucket brigades, drawing from the city wells that were all scattered about the place. Moving forward with her entourage, the Dragon-Queen found that her presence was keeping order, as Daenerys projected confidence from atop her mare. It was a smooth partnership of action and perception that let the two very different women work together seamlessly.

Continuing to advance through the city as her soldiers massacred Masters and struck the chains off of slaves, it was there, under that massive Harpy, that Daenerys would plant her banners. She could see the entire city from there, which did help withcoordination, but with her army, and her orders? It was barely needed. It was more of a statement that the reign of the Masters was done. Around her surged troops in the heat of killing, and in Meereen it was less precise than in Astapor, for the freed slaves of Astapor who now fought as freemen in her ranks _did_ make excesses in the sack, but nor could it be helped. Around her was the triumph of her cause over the greatest of the Ghiscari cities, taken in a single heartbeat before they could prepare themselves after her seizure of Astapor. Around her were the cries of hundreds of thousands as they were told that they were free. The whole world would be unable to ignore this now.


End file.
